Changes
by Inami
Summary: In a world where children travel from the future to change the past, what can you do when you're presented with a child you were never supposed to have? [Implied Chrom/Robin]
1. Unexpected Gifts (1)

When he meets her, it's in a hostile environment and surrounded by Risen. She dances amongst them like a child playing deadly tag, ducking under weapons and slipping behind broken pillars to dissuade her pursuers, picking them off as they came closer.

There is uncanny familiarity with her, in the tilt of her head, in the smile on her face as she speaks to him, and her flippant discovery and acceptance of her amnesia.

Morgan. That is what she is called, or she recalls she is called, but there is no reason for him to doubt that. Her identity is her own, and he accepts it. She is sprightly and cheerful, but is careful in battle, shifting between the clumsy, inexperienced grip of the sword and the distant safety of tomes, and he is glad that she sticks close when he bid her to.

The gladness he feels is conflicted and it is only the urgency of imminent death that distracts him from the bob of dark hair, the familiar brown eyes and the Brand of Exalt unmistakable in one of them.

"Mother!"

When the Tear of Naga is retrieved and their party regroups, he escorts the young Morgan to his tactician, distinct in the throng of people, and similarly making her way toward him. It is a ritual that they check upon each other after each skirmish, unspoken and understood between them. At her side is a young boy, nearly identical to the girl he has retrieved, and introduced as Morgan too. The naming confusion is by far the least of his concerns. They are twins, fraternal but eerily alike when placed side-by-side. They emulate their mother strongly, from their bearing to their attire. More than just her, though, both Morgans are indomitable in their cheer, in the color of their hair, and all the more striking for their marking.

If not for Lucina, Chrom would never have thought to look so closely.

Chrom smiles at the new additions and it is difficult, so difficult, to meet Robin's eyes when the children rush off to meet the other time travelers. There is silence between them, uncomfortable because of what has occurred, and paradoxically comfortable because he isn't alone in this. She feels the same way as he. In some twisted way, he is grateful for that understanding, but wonders if that would be the cause of their undoing.

He makes the effort nonetheless. Robin is pale, her smile crooked and he wonders how much of that is reflected in his own visage. It is difficult to voice what he wants to say, to assure her, to speak of the twin elephants they aren't dancing around at this moment.

"Not now." She finally says when he finds the strength to clear his throat, sounding like she never wanted to talk about it. His eyes are drawn to her hands, wrung together and even now, still empty. He tears his eyes away from them, burned.

He doubts he will forget; the image is seared into his mind. He cannot stop thinking.

It is impossible, the conversation inescapable. But it could be postponed for later, he thinks, watching her glance around surreptitiously, at the hustle and bustle of camp. She's right. Not now. He nods and promises to meet Robin that night, and they mutually leave for other duties.

Chrom goes to inform his wife of his return.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I write in a rambling, free-form method, so if you've gotten this far, thank you very much. I added the two Morgans too, since the concept of the yet-unreleased Future of Despair DLC having both combined with the idea of "what if the kids came back and changed too much that their parents don't get together" just meshed to have this.


	2. Unexpected Gifts (2)

The evening passed without even as much as a word between them. She had been too busy, making arrangements for Frederick where to place the twins' quarters, wondering if it was proper to have them share a tent, to let them stay with those who had space, or perhaps to just separate them entirely. The evening meal had been spent deflecting inquiries to their father and ducking the twins' inquisitive eyes whenever that particular topic was brought up.

The Shepherds are a nice, close-knit unit, almost like a large, dysfunctional family. There were the only family Robin knew, and she would never trade them for anything. But in the throng of friends that had somehow made their own little families between them during and after the war against Plegia, being one of the few who remained unmarried made Robin the target of well-meaning, exasperating concern.

Of all the people to have twins! They said, grinning at her. Speculation already ran rampant; was she seeming someone on the side and hadn't been sharing? Perhaps they haven't met yet, and maybe they could help. Robin had feigned ignorance; she didn't have time to make relationships like that, she had reasoned. There was a small blessing, she thought, that Morgan (Morgans? If there were two, did she refer to them in plural form?) could not recall their father, and none of the others dared press either twin to remember.

Certainly not after the very enthusiastic bout of head-thwacking that ensued the day after, anyway. Robin was very sure that some of the other children were on shift rotation to keep an eye on either Morgan, to make sure they didn't harm themselves or, like that one time, aided each other in bashing their head in.

It was neither of their faults, she thought as she caught Chrom's eyes across the clearing, that they were unable to discuss Morgan. She's to check on the state of their weapons, and he to the group maneuver training. Several days have passed now, and there were certainly were more pressing things to talk about, like the maps that would help bring them closer to defeating Walhart's crusade, the men who needed rest, the continued return of the dead whose origins they were unable to pinpoint.

That is what Robin tells herself, when the gulf between them widens and her nerves are strung from all the _other_ people who find the time to bring up the topic of Morgan to her between her daily duties.

Both Morgans are charismatic - bright both in mind and in personality, and they are nigh unstoppable when they get started on this or that. It takes little time for them to slot into place in their big family, starting off as the little brother and sister you were ashamed to have and quickly endearing themselves to become family you just can't help but be fond of. Between them, they have the entirety of the army charmed by their good cheer.

Robin can't help but think and wonder – is she truly worth their admiration and love?

With Chrom and Lucina ensuring loyalty and faith, and her twins providing the entertainment, Robin is just glad for the raised morale.

That she could even consider all four of them in the same thought just made her wish that she could just approach Lucina and tell her that maybe she does end up having an affair with Chrom. The young woman would gladly run Robin through with her sword, and then Robin would not have to bring up the possibility to the man she made said affair with, only it hasn't happened yet.

_Yet_. Let Naga strike her down for her traitorous thoughts. Neither Chrom nor his wife would appreciate it, and whatever opportunity they had from years ago… that had passed.

"I think it runs in your blood," Maribelle says one day, and there goes the stone that she seems to be carrying everywhere, dropping heavily into her stomach faster than the clatter of the books she is – had been - attempting to balance. It is walking lessons today, and Robin still does not understand the difference between holding her head high without turning up her nose, nor does she really understand why she subjects herself to Maribelle's lady lessons. "You had charmed your way into the Shepherds, and now your twins too! I've never seen my Brady so energetic."

Maribelle prattles on about Robin's daughter and once more, the ball in her stomach unknots uncomfortably. It is another arrow dodged, and she is not sure if she should be grateful. It doesn't stop there, of course.

"What kind of mother are you?!" It is Severa this time, in the middle of the mess tent after the noon meal and Robin mutes her cringe. Severa had been sitting with the Morgans, interrogating them about something or another, until Frederick calls Morgan away ("Which one?" Even from far away, Frederick's sigh was pronounced, "Both of you.") It is Frederick who often checks where people's skills are left wanting, and the twins' assessment has been postponed long enough. Chrom, Lucina, and Laurent had followed soon after, for different reasons, and she is glad that they left.

As it was, there were still too many people milling about for her comfort.

Robin places her tray of food in the pile for washing and gestures for Severa to follow her elsewhere. This was not the place for a conversation like that. In the corner of her eye, Sumia looks worried and Cordelia looks like she might intervene, but most of the others look curious and somewhat apologetic. Robin wonders if Severa had made herself the spokesperson for everyone. She just wishes… she wishes a lot of things.

She doesn't want to humiliate either Chrom or his family, nor provide proof that would demean either of her children, all due to indiscretions that another her from the future had done.

"Severa, let's talk about this somewhere else."

"No! Everyone agrees and it's a PROBLEM." Severa emphasizes this in her usual way, stomping her foot in irritation.

Robin barely hears her own voice, faint as it was. "… Everyone…?"

"Of course! We're not dumb!"

_Everyone_ knew, of course they knew. It was hardly a secret, not when both Morgans interacted with a number of people on a daily basis, the hereditary Brand of Naga imprinted on their eyes. In comparison to the former Exalt and Chrom whose Brands were placed in the most conspicuous places possible (though Chrom's could be hidden), Owain had gotten by with his sleeve and Robin still didn't know where Lissa hid hers. For her son and daughter, the best way to hide it would be following Lucina's example. And even then, Lucina had to resort to wearing a mask just to avoid identification, and her younger self's brand was visible to anyone who gazed upon the child. It didn't take a smart person to see and make a connection, and what had Robin been thinking, pretending that no one would be able to see.

"I'm sorry." She pressed her hand to her face, over her eyes, and she isn't prepared for the judgment, the pity she knows she will see now that everyone knew. She isn't sure if she is having a breakdown, but Cordelia drags Severa along and it is Lissa who pulls Robin away to break it to her gently, perhaps.

They sit in her tent and Lissa makes small talk at first, babbling about this or that, but Lissa sees the expression on her face and just looks determined. "It's okay, Robin, I understand! Severa was a little harsh but…" She says, and Robin feels even more alone – how could she understand? – and dislikes herself for the thought, as Lissa has been nothing but like a sister to her, and self-pity had no place in wedging this distance between them. Severa's harshness had merit. "Morgan – both of them, they're very nice kids. They're a riot, and Owain likes them. And well, I like them too! But Robin…"

Cousins. She ought to talk to Chrom about that, but she hasn't even spoken to him about Morgan, and Owain is her children's cousin, and Lissa is their aunt, and Lucina is their half-sister, and she was sure that she was going somewhere special for her death.

"Don't you think it's ridiculous that they're both called Morgan?" Lissa says this slowly like she is addressing a child, and Robin is glad for it. As it is, she needs Lissa to repeat her sentence. "Everyone's having problems when they talk about them, or you know, call them. Morgan, which Morgan, the boy or the girl and everyone's bothered by having to do it, but if you think it's okay, then we can live with it- er, Robin?"

It isn't until Lissa begins shaking her that Robin realizes that she has perhaps lost it. In relief, in confusion, or just perhaps despair that the charade continues, and all that worrying over the twins' shared_ name._ She is laughing, nearly doubled up and crying, and idly she wonders if having illegitimate children coming from the future was the last straw, piled on top of the war against Valm, on top of the realization that Validar was her father, on top of Lucina returning to tell them that in the future, Chrom dies before his time and there was nothing Robin can do about it, and now, she has yet to talk to her best friend, properly _talk_ to him, at all.

"I'll talk to Morgan first." She says after the laughter is over, brushing the tears away from her face. Small things. She can start with small things. It is their name, after all. It wouldn't do to change it without their consent. She reassures Lissa that she is fine, that she just needs some lie-in and barely convinces her to leave. "Thank you, Lissa."

She will talk to Chrom in the morning, she decides, deciding to avoid another late night by sitting on her bed, debating on whether or not to employ Morgan-inspired sleeping techniques with a thick tome. She is deciding between a half-spent Thoron and a barely-used Ruin when he knocks and enters without hesitation because certainly, he has never learned. They look at each other for an awkward moment and there are things she wants to say, like perhaps, _are you mad_ and _people will talk_ and other things she doesn't even want to consider or has considered but regardless, she never wanted to think about him that way when he takes the decision out of her hands and stacks the tomes on a crate.

"Let's talk." He says seriously, sitting beside her. Their knees touch, and somehow, she thinks this is like their late night discussions, before everything had gone out of course. This is her best friend, and she would never turn him away.

She gazes into his eyes and Robin feels the weighted ball roll away, and she finally breathes. "Now is a good time as any."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The last chapter had a lot of problems in grammar and just general repetition, so I edited it a bit? That's the problem with hot-off-the-press writing. Truthfully, I'm not sure who I should designate as Chrom's wife in this universe. Sumia would be the most "canon" and difficult way to go, but another story written by xChocolat, I think, is tackling that situation already, and I'm not sure if I should go for that path as well. The alternative choices would probably complicate matters a lot, so I'm deciding between Sumia and the "random woman" seems simultaneously easier and difficult, if only because it introduces a character that isn't truly given a name or personality, but it's a unique (and yet easy) idea in that it hasn't been used yet. Hmm. Thoughts?


	3. Interlude (i)

One's actions always has a cause, a reason. One's actions always has an effect, and that effect will always be the cause of another action. Whether by obvious or subtle means, one's actions will always impact another's, and so on.

This concept is something that Morgan takes to heart and cradles it. It is not one of mother's sayings, nor is it something from their muddled recollection of their past. It is merely an observation that can be applied to people as well. He stops by a puddle to observe it for a moment, and after a moment's pause, she does too. It had rained the night before, not too strongly that moving today was going to be difficult, but just enough to cup and gather precipitation in any likely crevice.

They shared a look between them and grin, taking turns in stomping in the puddle and holding up the hems of their coats to avoid getting the edges muddy. It's a futile effort. They shriek and laugh while they run, babbling apologies to Laurent who got splashed more than the twins combined.

Morgan bets that Laurent is going to be mad the whooooole day. Morgan bets that Laurent is going to be mad for a _week_.

It doesn't matter who is right, just that they are sure that Laurent will forgive them, and that Morgan is going to play tome stackers with him next time, and Morgan is going to assist him in battle. It is their way of making reparations.

It is also their way of forging bonds. It's unintentional, but the stone is cast and the mud is on Laurent's robes, and they are, of course, apologetic about it (they'll make proper time for that later) but they are glad, since it means they can learn more about Laurent, and Laurent they. Such is the way of things. They do things their own way, sort of, which is fine by them, because in the end things work out the way they want to, and it just so happened that their way was always enjoyable, even if it didn't work out.

It was logic that was confusing only to anyone who isn't Morgan and possibly mother. Sometimes, they are required to explain that when people get annoyed or fascinated by what they do, but not always. Mother knew everything, so it was to be expected that she could understand.

Twins, they're called. They have amnesia, both of them, and that is an oddity in itself. All that they can remember is mother, mother teaching them, guiding them. They recall nothing else, nothing of their father, or if they have another sibling, or if there was another existence in their lives that wasn't mother. Sometimes, Morgan says other things, of having a father and she had no mother. Sometimes, Morgan wonders if he truly recalls having a sister.

They hold these memory fragments between them, sometimes, when they play enemy spies and sneak into each other's tents to grasp fingers and squeeze and take comfort in each other, because reality is a confusing thing, more so than their recollections. Their pasts are a puzzle, and the pieces don't always fit, but that's alright. Break the frame, they giggle to each other, hushed whispers in case Lucina prowls too close, stalking the space between their mother's tent and Chrom's as per usual, though Lucina never gives a coherent answer when they ask.

They are Morgan. It is a name they share proudly, and do not understand the confusion of their peers, but they can see why they're frustrated. But they don't understand the problem; there were two Lucinas, two Minervas, and two Morgans. They could tell which one is which easily, because Morgan is he, and Morgan is she, and despite their many similarities, they are still separate beings. (It's harder, with Minerva, but that is something that they won't tell either Gerome or his mother.)

They both love mother, and aspire to be like her. They like the same things, even the vegetables that they used to dislike. They do not understand Lucina, but admire her regardless. They do not recall a world where everything has gone mad, where Lucina is alone with her Falchion, where the others' parents are dead, where mother is not with them.

What they see is Lucina surrounded by family and friends who love her. They see parents with their children, nearly of the same age, who are willing to die and live and grow old with them. They look at each other and see a distorted image, what might have been, what could have beens, and trace their right eyelids with gentle, fleeting touches.

_Never stop learning. Take account of everything that you can._

They do not understand why mother stares at them so, when they are pressed against her sides and there is a lull because as of now, they have yet to find a reading pace that suits the three of them. They're getting better at it, and there's real pressure to conform, but it gets rowdy when one asks a question and the other tries to ask at the same time, only to find that they are asking about the same thing, and they try to speak over each other for the sake of it. Mother just rolls her eyes and reprimands them both and they cherish this time with her.

She always answers their questions. All but one.

_Never ask anyone else to do what you are not willing or prepared to do._

They wonder if it would make a difference, considering, calculating as they spar with Chrom, under Lucina's critical gaze and Frederick's soft running commentary that poses as backhanded advice. Lissa stands to the side, vulnery and heal staff at the ready, though that doesn't stop her from cheering them on, and jeering at her brother when she could.

They wonder if they should take their cue from their relationship.

Falchion glitters under the sun, and Chrom's eyes are so blue and so intense that they wonder if they will drown in it. They wonder if there's any of that in their own features.

They wonder if this is what Lucina feels, to have a father who loves so deeply.

_Calculate your chances and, if it is the only choice… you are the only acceptable casualty._

This is their reality. They have a mother they love. They have an extended family that they won't do without. And regardless of their past, this is their present, and their future is built upon it. They subscribe to nothing but their mother's unspoken principles.

Even without all the pieces of the puzzle, or even the right ones, they can create their own picture, one that is theirs and theirs alone.

_This is the path of a tactician._

They look at each other and share a secret smile as they part ways.

He engages Lucina in conversation on the way to Tharja's tent, inquiring after Henry, and where might he find him. He does not mind either, as long as one of them is willing to teach him. Naturally, Lucina and he get along well, that's what he thinks, but time will tell. (They had never any doubt about this - Lucina is her father's daughter, and Morgan is their mother's son, and their parents' bonds are tight enough that it is no question that it could happen between their children, if given enough nourishment.)

She gazes at them as they leave, pouting because she wants to talk to Lucina too, but there are other things to be done. She lifts her eyes up to the sky, searching them in hopes to catch Sumia or Cordelia, because as much as she loved the Justice Cabal, she isn't sure how much she can learn from Cynthia without engaging in too many theatrics (though those were nice too). When Chrom magically appears at her side to catch her by the elbow every now and then because she forgets to look at where she is going, then who was she to deny the family-style invisible bond-like thing that tied them together?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This entry is almost like an interlude of sorts, from the (garbled) perspective of Morgan/s, and an attempt to whack at identity issues (or lack thereof.) Morgan's existence and characterization are interesting in that they can bounce through anything with enthusiasm. I'm not sure how much of that is portrayed effectively.

Thank you for reading this far, and the feedback about Chrom's wife is really helpful. I still haven't decided which path to take, so the next chapter might take a bit, or I might just go with more interludes while I think about it.


	4. Unexpected Gifts (3)

He watches the assessment with interest; first it is a test of the Morgans against each other while they observe. Standing at rest, Frederick has his lance ready and his eyes are sharp on the movements of each twin. Lucina stands near him, interest brightening her eyes and face. Laurent's interest is as sharp as the glare of his glasses is bright and he holds a writing implement in one hand and a few loose sheets in another.

Before Robin, Chrom has never encountered a tactician who would both strategize and fight. If it weren't for Robin, he thinks, they would never be able to watch something like this.

It is obvious in their movements that they are thinking first, each sibling measuring the other and coming to strategies and discarding it. It's a battle of intellect and judgment, of narrow-eyed looks and - here Chrom squints and Frederick sighs loudly - the twins are just grinning now, seriousness giving way to playfulness. Frederick coughs to get them moving, and they do, and it is a battle of skill now, of who can apply their strategies to their fight.

It is their playfulness that he remembers that they are still children. From the corner of his eyes, he sees Lucina frown, all too serious, and his heart sinks. Too grave, he thinks of the children who had traveled back in time. All of them still so young, and grew up too fast that despite being of nearly the same physical age as their parents, it was still easy to make the distinction that they were still _children_.

Frederick reprimands the twins for their foolishness and Chrom laughs and waves it off. There was no war here, he emphasizes, just a friendly spar among comrades. Frederick sighs as was his wont, and Lucina stares at him in befuddled astonishment. He winks at her and gets a bright smile in return, and he counts that as his win.

There was a war in their future, and in hers, he had failed his children, his friends' children. He feels the weight of a crown he does not wear.

There is a secret that Chrom harbors and attempts to hide, but like all secrets that is shamefully kept, it is something that he dislikes about himself and, perhaps more importantly, it is something known by those who know him well and accept him for it.

There is no love lost between him and Ylisse.

What his closest confidants do not know is how deeply he harbors his resentment for the country he is meant to lead.

Ylisse is full of those who had been drained of their life, of its blood, of its people. His father had been Exalt and had campaigned for war against the neighboring Plegia; a ruthless move that had driven the Mad King to earn his name, and had caused the social ruin of house Ylisse.

It was his father's consequences that Chrom and his sisters had inherited. Had it been only himself, Chrom would not know what he would have done. But it was Emmeryn who shouldered the hatred that had been their father's legacy. It was Emmeryn who had loved their people and accepted their hatred so that she may begin to ease their grieving. It was Emmeryn who had been stoned for blame that was not hers, for wanting to raise their people from despair.

Ylisse had hated her, had scorned her, had loathed her even as she had attempted to bring peace to them. She had sheltered him and Lissa from it, and her efforts had gradually changed people's opinion of her.

They had loved her because she had taken their abuse. Now that she is dead, Ylisse has lost its martyr and weeps for their loss. Chrom has lost a sister, all for the fickleness of his country.

Chrom does not accept Ylisse because he cannot forgive them for that. Ylisse, in turn, would not accept him as king, as it's heart is set on an Exalt years dead. Chrom does not want to be its king, and refuses to take the name of Exalt.

Like Ylisse, he has a selfish wish: he wishes for Emmeryn to return, for he misses her, but he does not want her to live life as she did before, not among people who hate and hated her. But.

But...

There is hesitancy there, wretched as it was, as his wish for her return is not truly divided from his wish to do as he did before, roaming Ylisse as a Shepherd. Only a prince, not a king, and not an Exalt. He wishes for a life of freedom, where he could turn back time and escape the constraints of his station.

Chrom looks past the gathering toward the top of the tent he and his wife share, she no doubt waiting to shower him with wordless contempt. Today, she is once more reluctant to leave their quarters as a statement. The situation of war does not agree with her, unsuited as she was to anything but living in Ylisstol. The constant movement and the lack of luxuries displeases her, yet she came along regardless; insisted on it, for reasons that he does not know but has seen Robin and Frederick share a look over when it was announced. Has seen it in the looks his Shepherds had given him, after they began their journey and their relationship deteriorated.

Theirs is a messy relationship, and a depressing tableau that he had hoped would change, given time. He loves her, for she is the mother of his child. But now, he is not sure.

He fears that his enthusiasm for defeating Walhart is for purely selfish reasons. That trying to preempt an invasion of his country by defeating a conqueror, he has become one himself.

The Princess of Chon'sin is grateful and looks to them for help. It makes a difference in perspective - he and his people are not invaders, but rather liberators. Instead of aiding usurpers, they are aiding a wronged princess.

It is a difference in perspective that makes the burden on Chrom's shoulders lighter. He takes comfort in its justification, that he is still walking the path that his sister would want.

In silence, he ruthlessly suppresses any inkling of resemblance between himself and his father, the oppressor of Plegia. On nights when his wife is sleeping at his side, and he is free to think to himself, he denies that going to war parallels his conceptualization and realization of the Shepherds in his youth.

A sword and world full of trouble. That is the legacy he had left his daughter. Was it his dissatisfaction with his circumstances that led to his failing?

Chrom is led out of his thoughts when he hears the high lilt of Morgan's voice. Lucina's replies in her usual paced enunciation, part of it discomfited, and he can see why. The brother is fighting Frederick now, so Lucina has the sister's full, starry-eyed attention. They are talking about partnering up in the next fight, Morgan detailing a possible maneuver they can try on their own. Lucina is nodding along with seriousness, but every so often she lifts one of her hands to hide a smile that reaches her eyes.

He wonders, if she had spoken to him that fateful evening, would things have been different? Had he known that she had been his daughter then, would he have married her mother for that reason instead? He slides his gaze to Morgan, effulgent in her earnestness, then to the other Morgan whose narrowed-down attention reminds him of a cramped alcove, separated from his court by only a door. He remembers slim hands in his own, squeezing for strength and reassurance, of lips curved into a sympathetic, sardonic smile.

He remembers her words, whispered and heartfelt, apologetic and understanding, and he heeds them and the counsel he trusts. He played the part he is required, he has sired an heir, but this place he is now… it is part of the future he wants to create. He yearns to be part of that picture, of that future, in the present.

He will be following the pattern that had ruined the future. He will be ruining the tenuous balance that he holds among the nobility, and gladly, if it means that he is a happier man for following his heart, if it means that he can have more of this vision, a reality. He would apologize to Lucina, but to do so would be insincere.

He is a selfish man. He isn't as altruistic as Emmeryn, despite his aim to be closer to her vision. His strength had always been in his impulsivity and in action. He leaves his children to have their moment and walks toward a certain tent with a prominent banner.

In this, he takes after his father the most.

There is one person whom he is sure will curb him and his nature, whom he trusts to keep his secrets and set him on the right path if need be. However, their connection is a symbiosis and already he has strained her side with his passivity. He must make his own decisions, using his own judgment, even if it meant that he must clash with her. But for that to happen, Chrom would have to be at Robin's side, and she at his.

He stands at Robin's tent entrance and does not hesitate to enter.

He does not believe in fate, does not believe that things will come to pass as Lucina heralds. He is his father's son, and he believes in and walks Emmeryn's path, however difficult it may be. He is no Exalt, no, but he is human. He will err, but it will not cripple him in his efforts for something better.

Chrom looks at Robin, at the books she juggles, and approaches.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I... don't actually know how to feel about this chapter. Or how to think about it. I actually had an entirely different plan for this chapter. In fact, I had one already half-written before Chrom decided to have his say, so that was pushed back a little. An introspective piece, I suppose, a study of Chrom's character since I'm not too sure of his mental state, since he himself isn't sure of it. It kind of interested me, since he's got lofty, noble goals and has some serious escapism issues, what with the burden of carrying Emmeryn's dreams.

As for his wife... it sort of wrote itself here, kind of. But I have to admit to some fascination toward a non-Shepherd (non)focus after reading your reviews, because of its effects on Chrom.


	5. Unexpected Gifts (4a)

The tent is stifling and overflowing with books on strategy, stacked on crates and would even be on the ground had she not treasured them so much. As it is, each book is carefully tucked in places where they could avoid getting dirtied. Her coat is left hanging on one such pile, and her customary clothes folded with her weapons of choice in easy reach.

In this room that Robin has made hers, Chrom is impressed by the minimal proof of her vanity. Now more used to seeing articles of impractical clothing and breakable phials full of perfume and creams in his own quarters, he sees one such box close to the pack she often carried with her. It is a mere fraction of his wife's baggage, and he is tempted to remark on the unexpectedly lady-like objects but refrains.

His ear stings in memory of the soap dish, and deliberately does not think of what came after, scrabbling to chant a nursery rhyme in his head. He has to do it a few more times than he ought to, but it is worth it. He is older, now, and he doesn't need to react like an awkward, hormone-driven mess. As it is, he feels like he is blushing.

Robin stares at him with that usual knot between her brows, the line of her lips conveying the usual scrutinizing, wordless "are you afflicted with something?" He attempts a sheepish smile and her expression clears into exasperated neutrality, but she's smiling now.

He has escaped that lecture. He doesn't get out of the rebuke she makes for his lack of propriety, what if she was changing or asleep? He clears his throat and hums a few bars of the rhymes, then gestures toward the doorway instead.

"Do you want to step out instead?"

"Mm. This is fine," she shrugs, and his attention is drawn to her shoulder and away.

He didn't think it would be so difficult, to talk about this. He tries to think of a way to start, but somehow, all previously prepared lines elude him.

"Right!" He says enthusiastically and with energy, just to find the momentum. Robin stares at him wide-eyed, like he was going insane and then frantically shushing him, but he doesn't stop, taking a few deep breaths and confesses to her:

"I didn't think it would be this way."

"Um… what?" Robin looks flummoxed, but seemed willing enough to listen to him so long as he isn't too loud. She tilts her head to prompt him to continue, her expression wan and drawn and he wonders how much sleep she's had, how much she had taken upon herself that her eyes are red-rimmed.

Like Frederick, Robin always took too much on her plate. Unlike Chrom's trusted retainer, however, it was more difficult to gauge her activities, because she was the type to take breaks when it suited her. Unlike Frederick, who was unanimously voted as a busybody and naturally needed some rest whenever possible, Robin could deviate from her usual schedule and no one would be the wiser.

"We talked about it before," he clarifies, when he realizes that he lost some of the wind he had built up. He takes this time to look her over, really look. She looked back, mildly irritated over his pauses but waits it out.

Not for the first time, he marvels at how small she is, how narrow her shoulders are without the coat that she wears everywhere. This is a realization that could never get used to, the dichotomy of the fragile-looking woman under the proud tactician who has gained his full confidence and impeccably manages their growing army without a complaint, both on the field and out of it. They are one and the same, he knows, but knowing isn't the same as intuiting. Chrom swallows, and his eyes cut away before he can stop himself. "How you would tutor Lucina in a subject when she's old enough for lessons."

For the first time, Robin looks up and meets his eyes, and her smile is gentle and fond, though partly exasperated. It's an expression Chrom knows well, for it is part indulgent and too knowing for his liking. "Chrom, I already said I will."

They had been in one of the rooms that Robin had claimed as hers. He had been acting every bit of an ecstatic father that he was and Robin gamely nodding along to his cheer. They had been ramblings of a too-happy father, not too different from the babbles of his infant daughter, but he thought he had been able to impress what he wanted.

A tutor. A guide. For Robin to be there, to share the milestones he experienced with his daughter. It was as natural as breathing, and more than an extension of himself, he knew that Robin would be there to listen to him complain about the boys his daughter will one day attract, about anything at all, that involves Lucina, because Lucina is, like Robin, an intrinsic part of Chrom's life.

He glances at her hands again, focusing on her left for a ring that is not there. It never occurred to him that he would one day return the favor, for hers.

Theirs.

"This Lucina is a little too grown to be taught." Robin tells him with a small, private smile. He wonders about that, if Robin and Lucina had spoken before. He thinks they will get along, if given the chance. "I'm not sure if there's anything I can teach her."

"No," he says gently, mirth coloring his voice. "I think Lucina has more to learn from you than ever."

She demurs and he bumps shoulders with her, because he knows that he is right in this. "If you say so."

"I know so."

But there are other things that they have to talk about, and talking about Lucina brings Robin that distant, distracted look that he knows is heavily influenced by guilt. With everything distracting him, the war, his daughter, their children… he wonders if he might have overlooked this as well.

"Do you regret it?" He asks her as the silence stretched, and he knows that she understands what he means in its unspoken context. It is in her stiffening, in the widening of her eyes and in the shift of her feet that could mean flight. He knows that is a question that she wants to ask but she is probably afraid to know the answer. He is too.

He is sure that if asked the same, he wouldn't be able to give her a straight or believable answer.

Such was the problem of one who had the ear of nobility, whose job was, at its core, to weigh the lives of those who followed them, to direct them to their deaths.

She does not meet his gaze, and he leans forward to grasp her hands, the way she gave him strength to do what he needed to do, for reassurance, for absolution. He presses their foreheads together so she knew that he was expecting an answer.

He will ask her what it was she was crying about, but perhaps, now is not the time, and it might be that he isn't suited for that role, when he is sure that he may prompt more. But there are some wounds that require deepening before it can be healed, and this wound, he thinks, has been left untreated for too long.

Chrom is grateful to the Morgans; would he even realize that there was a need to talk like this, had they not come?

"Do you regret choosing my wife for me?"

* * *

Author's Note: This was actually meant to be longer, but... I might have to break this into three parts, because somehow, I am unable to comprehend scene breaks and the only thing that breaks when I try is my brain. To everyone who supports and watches this story with its ridiculously short chapters, thank you. I'm not very satisfied with the second part that I've written so far, so I'll be playing with it for a bit.


	6. Interlude (ii)

The end of the war heralded a period of peace among the people of Ylisse. Plegia spent its resources rebuilding and was busy setting up the next king to pursue further conflict. Their ties to Ragna Ferox's Khans assured them of a stable alliance.

Naturally, this meant that the Ylisse's own nobles had the opportunity to find the time to engage in their own past time, which tackled significantly less important matters.

They are wary of her at first. She is an unknown factor, one of the new Shepherds that have arrived at Ylisstol since the war and was one of the few who have stayed.

She would normally pass beneath their notice; the number of Chrom's Shepherds has swelled during the war, and with all of them underfoot it was difficult to tell one from another. She, however, is a constant at Chrom's side, nearly insignificant until someone makes to ask and the prince absentmindedly introduced her as his tactician.

They doubt that she is what is said to be: their image of his famed tactician, her brilliance and prodigious ability does not match with what they see. She attempts to correct them, but to idle minds, speculation and opinions matter more than the truth, and it she throws her hands up in defeat since truly, it wasn't worth arguing the point.

It is obvious that she had _Prince_ Chrom's ear, and any of their attempts to curry her favor always ended in airs of success only to realize, later on, that they had never acquired her interest in the first place. She wasn't easily bought by flattery or through bribery, and her attempts to show her worth in state matters - each day their prince adds more to her responsibilities in a show of trust - merely fan the flames of continued political machinations and significantly higher levels of vitriol.

They say terrible things about her now. She is an amnesiac without pedigree, plain in her appearance, and was the prince's get on the side. She had ties to Plegia, and that was why she had Tharja stalk her everywhere. It's talk that Robin can handle, simply because it is something she does not care for. She pays it little mind until she hears Lissa arguing with one such lady who had spoken too loudly. Afterward, Frederick sets her aside and instructs her with what she needs; information, education in court affairs that she lacks.

Frederick is almost sweet, like that. She understands why he's wary of her, though that wanes the more they spend time together. But she is grateful to him, as despite that, they are still working together for the sake of House Ylisse, and it is through his instruction that she begins to add to her responsibilities; more etiquette through Frederick, more of Ylisse's history courtesy and noblisse oblige from Maribelle, and borrows Sumia's thematic novels for inspiration.

The latter isn't very engaging, but fiction is informative in its own way. Sumia is overjoyed by Robin's interest and is helpful in providing her in books. When Cordelia hears of Robin's sudden search for fiction through Sumia, she adds to Robin's growing pile of references with what could only be termed self-help books.

This makes her a little more efficient in what she does. Naturally, as difficulty never took account of people's efforts and people are never always satisfied, one concern is becomes prevalent among Chrom's court. The idea grows momentum until such time that Chrom often found her after particularly trying meetings with them.

He looks harangued when he drops across her table gracelessly. There is that troubled look on his face when she glances up from her ledgers – today she is accounting for their expenses and it isn't particularly interesting. It is of importance, but she can afford the distraction. Sometimes, it is more important to talk to the people than shut herself off with facts.

It was too early, they both agreed, to marry. Chrom wishes to marry for love, and Robin would have nothing less for him. But as it was, his peers speak of nothing but succession. The Lady Emmeryn had been Exalt since she had been young; unnecessarily so, but she was loved, and her presence was accounted for, was expected. While she had not shown any particular inclination toward romance, there had been, Robin had confirmed through chatting up the help, enough suitors she would be able to pick from.

People had plans for Emmeryn, and now that those were cut short, they were looking toward Chrom. In case, they had said, and Lissa did not seem, to them, like a viable option.

Robin and Chrom agree, for a completely different reason. It is not because she was unsuited as a princess; no, Lissa could rally people to her cause through loyalty and friendship alone because her heart was in the right place. Neither of them wish for Lissa to become Chrom's replacement in case, not when it would expose her to foibles that could be avoided.

"I never knew how much sis had sheltered me." Chrom says with a touch of irritation, when one such discussion encroached the evening. It was summer, and the heat has seemed to have gone to people's heads. "It's as if they're _parading_ their daughters around me."

"They were," she agrees with a faint touch of amusement, because it had taken this long for Chrom to notice. It was a common spectacle now, and many of the noblest of families had started to whip out previously-unknown daughters for him to choose from. "Though I think one of them was newly-widowed and waiting for you to notice."

Chrom paused and didn't seem like he was able to comprehend it. "She's old enough to be my mother!" He at least knew of whom she spoke of.

"She is. She has a daughter too, one who's near my age."

"Gods!" Chrom threw his hands up and continued to pace. Falchion, thankfully, was resting on her desk and her walls were unlikely to crumble when Chrom was in this mood.

She watches this for a moment longer before standing. She pours them some of the cooled wine someone brought them some time ago. It's still chill to her touch. She offers him the stem of one glass and holds the other. Their hands brush when he takes it, his hand poignantly warm in contrast and she retreats as he mulls over the liquid.

"So… Is there anyone that you fancy?"

He eyes her and lowers his glass, an abortive move. "Aren't you supposed to wait until I'm properly imbibed before asking questions like that?"

"I thought I ought to prompt you anyway, out of concern for your welfare." She sniffed, adopting a tone she had heard all too often during Chrom's Parade of Potential Paramours. At this point, Lissa had even begun nicknaming them.

"Thank you, _mother._"

"I suppose if you prefer her company, I can send a missive for that lady to come visit you. She seemed willing enough. What was her name again-?"

"Robin, no!"

They laugh over it and it lightens the conversation but when he speaks again, there's a pink tinge to his cheeks and he looks sheepish.

After a moment, he decides to answer her question. "No… not at all." He sounds even confused about it, because Chrom was a natural at overlooking romances. Robin hadn't even needed to look that far for examples. She hadn't even stayed that long in the Shepherds before she realized that the best of friends Sumia and Cordelia were helplessly head-over-heels over Chrom. Everyone knew about it, that is, everyone but Chrom.

He looks at her and tilts his head, leaning forward a little to give her his whole attention. "What about you?"

They were only the handful of unmarried people left in the Shepherds. Fighting together, protecting one another, _living_ together forged bonds among people. After being exposed to such life threatening situations, the urge to live to the fullest was strong, and relationships – it was no surprise that marriage would be an option.

There were five weddings already set for the rest of the year. Already it seemed like it was a trend, a happy epidemic. It seemed that neither she nor Chrom had yet to catch it.

"I never thought about it," she admits. "There was Maribelle's kidnapping, the Risen… the war…" and Emmeryn. She shook her head. "And I've been swamped with work here." Romance had never been a priority, but she wasn't against the idea.

Her priority has been to House Ylisse, to Chrom and his family that had rescued her. Between them, they share a rueful smile.

His smile was gentle, with a tinge of weariness to it, but with a sense of kinship as he spoke. "We're such a pair."

They know that their time – his time was running out. As the next Exalt, his freedom is limited; he is no longer his own man. He faces this reality now, at this moment, looking at their weary situation. So instead of dodging the issue as he would rather do, he drains his glass in one go.

"Please, Robin."

* * *

After that was a flurry of activity. Word had gotten out that Chrom was genuinely considering each of his Parade of Potential Paramours (well, most of them, anyway), and their efforts increased a hundredfold. Their work is cut out for them, and Robin begins with a list.

Naturally, she decided to approach Maribelle and brought Lissa along. It was easier to get their opinion when Lissa was so eager to talk about each woman as a little sister is wont to do when her older brother was being pursued by the masses, and Maribelle's harsh but critical assessment of each one was a boon.

The list gets shorter until it was merely a fifth of what it had been, and after that, Robin approached Ricken to have a better grasp of their backgrounds. Oftentimes, she caught Frederick following her during her quest, but otherwise never questioned him, and he never offered assistance.

She speaks with each of the girls, discussing things of no importance and things of importance, because she needs to grasp what they know, how they act. More than that, however, she observes them outside of face-to-face interaction. Panne is a reluctant helper, but Robin would slave away in the kitchens to make up for it.

In the end, however, she spoke with Frederick. Like her, no, even longer than she, Frederick had watched over and protected Chrom from any threat, no matter how mundane. Above that, he cared for their lord's welfare, and his was an opinion that Robin could not do without. He scrutinizes her quietly, judging her, and she allows it.

She is deciding Chrom's future, because Chrom trusts her. For him, for his acceptance of one such as her who woke without memory and had nowhere to go, for the family he had given her. It is a weighty thing, his trust.

Frederick gives her his thoughts, and though she can see that he disapproves of the idea, there is necessity. Urgency. And so, she measures each girl, keeping fact and opinion and observations in her head as she traces each imaginary path to possible futures.

It is a marriage of convenience.

She weighs between positives and negatives, she makes contingencies so that Chrom may have his freedom, if all goes sour. Robin wishes for those scenarios to be wrong, that Chrom and his future wife will be human, enough to change and fall in love with each other.

That summer, they stand in one of the hallways out of earshot of the heralds and she feels the weight of her decision. She whispers names to him, speaking of possibilities and the negatives, but omits the escape plans that she has created. Sees the trust and resignation in his eyes and felt the need to reach out, to grasp his hands.

She is there for him, she wants to say, but can't. She would offer herself, but that was not an option. Not when she was a nothing in the eyes of his court.

He bids her to remove his glove and she does, puzzled by the order and it grows when he takes off his ring and presses it into her hand. Their Brand, their House insignia is beautifully crafted on its surface. His palm his warm as it lays flat on hers, and the ring is warming in the space between.

"Keep it," he says.

Within a month, Chrom has a beautiful wedding, celebrated by (almost) all, and it is nearly a festival.

The small pouch she keeps around her neck stops irritating her skin. She imagines that the ring is still warm.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Part 2, in a sense. My working hours changed, so it's been harder for me to find the time to write. Sorry!


	7. Unexpected Gifts (4b)

It's an uncomfortable topic. Robin wishes she could say something to deflect the confrontation but that isn't what she is asked. That isn't what they deserve, when they are, at the very least, friends. Instead she swallows and looks at Chrom in the eyes, feels the weight of his ring at her throat and asks the question that she is almost, nearly sure of the answer.

"Are you happy?"

She notes the sudden strain in Chrom's expression, the sudden faraway look in his eyes and the crease at the corner of his mouth whenever he thought of something distasteful. It smoothens out soon after, but she has seen, and, however belatedly, he knows it. "I- can't say I'm not." He says carefully, truths laid between them with thinly veiled pretense. He looks into her eyes and intones, more seriously, more truthfully, "I can be happier than this."

Chrom's thumb brushes over Robin's knuckles in a gentle, subtle gesture, his fingers curling around her palm and lets some of it rest on her wrist. She feels her chest flutter with unfamiliar discomfort and she looks down to stare at their hands.

The mark at the back of her hand is ugly and grotesque against her skin. There were pieces of a puzzle that she could not complete, but here was the hint to her identity, and already she does not want to pry farther into what she thinks is an abyss. Chrom's hand covers it, and she is glad for it; the muted shine of his ring helps buoy her from thoughts of things that she has not done to the acts that she has already done, had requested him to do. She can focus on her mistakes, in the consequences of her actions.

"Then I can't say that I don't regret it. I've ruined your life twice over now." She tells him, and she wishes for the sturdy weight of her coat, for the anonymity of her hood. "I should have thought of another way; what sort of advisor am I, that I can't consider and put your feelings first? I had doomed your sister, and now your future-"

"-is not set in stone." Chrom tells her firmly. "We can change things, for the better. After we found Morgan - after we found our son and our daughter, I could finally see a possibility that we had never attempted." This close, he could feel it when she began to tense, when she realized where he was getting at.

"Don't say it!" She said, low and urgent and panic creeping into her. "Don't say anything that we will regret."

"I would rather say it now than regret not being able to later. Robin… do you dislike me? Do you hate me?"

"What? No!" Robin all but tensed in her conviction. "Chrom, no, you're-" She blushed and fidgeted. "… You're… important to me." Saying it aloud was like prying at well-placed nails.

Suddenly bashful, Chrom seemed to grow more confident and, conversely, more shy. "I thought of you - what an irreplaceable friend you are to me, and found myself thinking… found myself becoming aware of it. That you were more than just a friend."

"You're married!" She all but shouts at him, frustrated at having to remind him of their current circumstances regardless of what brought them there. Robin pulls away from his closeness, needing the space to think, to disconnect so she could reorient herself of the facts. She stands to create as much space between them, trying to be calm and failing, to distance herself but it's an overreaction. It seems like an overreaction. It's something that she has attempted to deny ever thinking. "We can't entertain "

Chrom's eyes flash with similar frustration and he lunges to capture her, to keep her where could have their camaraderie back. "We have [children], Robin!" He yanks harder than he wishes to and it unbalances her.

Her full weight careens into him and his knee impacts something hard. Her bedside table topples to the ground, bringing her candle with it. They stiffen and look over to the edge of the bed, but there's no imminent death by fire yet they do not breathe a sigh of relief. They have caused a racket, and they wait a few beats for worried patrols to come by to ask if there was a problem.

There is none.

Chrom is sure to give their soldiers a talking-to in the morning, but for now, he laughs, low and relieved, because then he doesn't have to explain his foolishness. Robin elbows him good-naturedly and partly out of irritation, but he apologizes and promises to clean up her books for her. He keeps her pinned in place, he using most of his weight to keep her laying in bed, and he smugly rolled them until they were on their sides, with his arms wrapped around her torso and stubbornly plants his chin on the crown of her head.

They are too close now, but he cannot see her face, and she cannot see his, and if they pretend that they are not affected by it, then it didn't - wasn't happening. Chrom won't let the opportunity go to waste.

"If someone comes in, they'll get the wrong idea." Robin says after a few moments of futile struggling. Or the right idea. It was difficult to tell, now.

"Better the wrong idea than taking our conversation out of context." He tries to keep the sting out of his rebuttal; he is sure she already knows this. Otherwise, she would truly make an effort at escaping, so Chrom mentally tallies another win for him.

The risk of rumors spreading of them sharing a cot in her tent in the middle of the night is lower if they keep quiet and discreet. In comparison, discussing Chrom's marital issues and the Morgans situation out in the open would only damn them. There were ears everywhere, and Lucina had already proven herself a capable sneak. That her last known company were the cunning Morgans only increased the possibility of eavesdropping.

"Does this do nothing to you?" He asks softly, nosing at the nape of her neck, where the thin bit of leather has hung for over a year. Her skin is cold, but she is warming to his touch, relaxing even, and her gasp, at least, tells him that his efforts were not wasted.

"Chrom…" She turns her head slightly and he could now see her cheek, but he refuses to move from where he was. He wasn't going to press this any farther than this, not tonight, and not without her consent. Chrom was just trying to make his point stick.

He swallows and squeezes her around her middle. "They didn't recognize me." It was a whisper, only for her ears, and he feels the stretch and strain of his heart at the thought. At the fact. "They didn't recognize Lucina. Lucina, Owain… none of the children knew them, from before they came here."

Robin is still and Chrom knows that she is already thinking of the many reasons why that would be so. "I don't want their doomed future." He continues. But that was nearly an abstract concept, a world where a grim future awaited them. What had brought Chrom here was significantly more base, less idealism and more a yearning. "I don't want a world where my children are strangers to each other. _I don't want to be absent in my children's lives._" A breath. "I don't want a world where you aren't there with me."

What else would that world be, if their children did now know him, unless they had been separated?

"Oh, Chrom..." Robin turned in his arms and touched his arm, light at first before it laid down more firmly, more solidly. "You are and will be a great father. Lucina loves you, and the child back in that castle will love you too, when you return." When Robin brought him back safely.

And she would.

He sighs into her hair and just embraces her like she was his lifeline. "I know I'm coming onto you like a wyvern in heat, but… please give it some thought."

"… I've been looking into wealthy, handsome wyverns lately." She murmured, resolve slowly crumbling. "But only in my spare time."

"I'm in luck then." He huffed out a laugh.

"But Chrom… what about your wife? About Lucina?" She asked more urgently, the unbridled worry there making him pull back to look at her, to smile at her.

It's a grateful smile, gentle and rueful at the same time and Robin's heart aches for him.

"I wondered… why did you never consider yourself to be my wife." He brushes his thumb over her knuckles again, and it lifts to cradle the pouch she kept, to untie it and reveal the ring he is meant to give his wife. It was given in trust, but perhaps he would have no reason to have it returned. "I wish you had."

Robin has thought more of and has looked out for Lucina more than he could expect. It would have certainly been better than this, Lucina without a tearful reunion and her mother remaining distant in her tent.

It was a gift of time, of consideration and affection, he hopes, and wishes. "Can you promise me that you'll try to look at me, past your general and friend, but as a man and you as a woman? I won't rush you for an answer immediately," he said, sitting up and watching her do the same. "We have our responsibilities, but please give it some thought."

"Just in my spare time," she repeated. Chrom laughed in agreement, and they shuffled around until Chrom could leave freely.

He hesitates for a moment, and Robin made to stand and escort him out, and they do an awkward little dance of propriety, he insisting that she stay in bed and he could show himself out, and she refusing to be pampered like a princess. They compromise: he tarries, and she all but pushes him out.

There is a lot for her to think about tonight.

* * *

**Author's Note:** What a difficult chapter to write. BUT YAY I have surpassed that hurdle.


	8. Unexpected Gifts (5)

Her father, she thought, had something close to a sadistic streak. Lucina surveyed the camp they had just set up, some distance away from a nearby Valmese village. Earlier on, she heard Aunt Lissa complain about not stopping at the village, and some part of her yearned for the comfort and luxury of staying under a sturdy roof.

_"A bed! It would really be nice to have a bed, don't you think, Chrom?"_

_"But Lissa, _camping outdoors builds character._"_

_"AUGH! Don't use that line on me!"_

But she knew that such things were not necessary when they were short on gold, in the middle of a hostile continent and with a growing number of recruits and freedom fighters in an army. There were mouths to feed, wounds to dress and they had enough cots to work with. Admittedly, Lucina would probably avoid staying in towns if she were still traveling alone. But that does not stop her from wanting some comfort, and it's a fickle feeling.

She thinks of her mother, who had tried to sway her husband's decision regardless of his answer to Lissa. Lucina feels her heart ache with longing and hurt when she remembered her mother's voice, distant and never once used to address to her.

Lucina had thought she had accepted the possibility that her parents might not accept her. The reality of her feelings does not follow her mind.

She kept walking, checking where she could assist and had her offers rebuffed jovially. That was one thing that she thinks is different; unlike the future, where resistance forces had dwindled to nearly just a handful, her father's army, his Shepherds always seemed happy, so content even when they were fighting.

She dreams of them failing, of seeing such a tightly-knit unit break apart from grief as each person dies, one by one. It keeps her awake and the memories of it makes her sick to her stomach, and she can't look at any of these people. But she does, imprinting each one in a morbid "just in case."

"Luuuu-~""-cinaaaaa~"

She paused as she heard her name being called and found both Morgans making their way to her. In their arms seemed to be the material used for their tent, with a sizeable hole in it. What on earth?

"Morgan? What did you do to that?"

"Who said that we did it? It could have just ripped on its own!"

Lucina stared on, unimpressed. Supplies were scarce, and it was no secret that the twins always had some hare-brained scheme between them. There were already some strange challenges between Morgan and Owain that could be heard across from camp, and there was a period where Yarne was more high-strung that was common, all but cradling his floppy ears protectively.

There was also that pitfall trap measuring nearly eight feet. That was a feat that none of them were able to figure out, and took even longer for the twins and their mother to fill.

She shook her head and just looked between the ripped cloth and the twins. "Was there something you needed?"

"Lucina, do you-"

"-have a sewing kit?"

"Or if you know where we can find Gerome-"

"-then we would be most grateful!"

Somehow, the twins had learned - or perhaps recalled such a skill that allowed them to complete each other's sentences. Lucina didn't care much for it, as it made it difficult to discern which one of them she was addressing at a time as she had to keep switching her attention from one to another.

"Gerome… Well, I think I saw him over-"

"Are you going to keep hiding away like this?" Chrom's voice, loud and clear and angry made them silent. Even from this far, they could hear him, though they were unable to understand what he was saying.

By unspoken agreement, they snuck closer and around one of the caravans that had been designated as their convoy. From there, they hid, Lucina at the highest and the twins all but carrying each other's weights as they sunk low. There was Chrom standing by an unmarked tent, distant from the center dwellings that were unmistakably Chrom's _Shepherds_ and not quite the army. Lucina's mother stands with him, one of her arms burdened with a bag. By now, Chrom's voice had grown softer, though not lacking in their stormy quality.

Their body language speaks of an argument, all sharp gesticulations and hunched shoulders and heads raised high, but from this distance, the topic of their argument has been muted.

There was no need for any further clarification. By this time, Lucina's mother has seen them first, she breaks the conversation and Lucina's heart when she turned away from father and daughter to enter the tent.

Lucina stared at her father's back, willing and wishing for him to go, to _do something, please, father, stop her._

It's a physical blow to her, when she sees his shoulders sag with an explosive sigh; when she watches him walk away.

"Oh." The twins said in stereo, and Lucina is reminded of their presence. Lucina feels shamed, that they would have to watch this. She feels ashamed, because other than that, she can't bring herself to care about them.

It was one thing to rationalize away her mother's rejection of her. After all, it was only expected, that her story be disbelieved. Lucina had accepted it in her mind, had resolved herself to it, but it still hurt.

It was an entirely different thing to watch her parents' marriage crumble right in front of her eyes.

Lucina straightens from her crouch and wraps her arms around herself, unwilling to show any more weakness, of vulnerability. How much had she changed, that this had happened?

"Being a princess is a lot of work," Morgan concluded after a moment's thought. He shifts in his place as he speaks, and it is like he can't contain his energy. Both of them do. Despite that, though, it is muted by care.

"And being a daughter is a lot of work too," says the other Morgan, whose usual expression of amiability had fallen into a concerned frown. "Lucina has it hard."

"Lucina definitely has it hard."

Lucina wasn't sure if they got the point. Or if they were making a point at all. She frowned and shook her head. It was difficult enough to keep her attention on one of them when she was speaking to them; they never could stand still, and after what she had seen... well. Lucina wasn't sure if she had the patience to listen to this. "Are you mocking me?"

"No!" They said together, voices blending as they trained bewildered eyes on her. "It's just nothing for us to compare to. You know how we don't have a dad?"

Lucina flinched. Even she had tried to avoid bringing up such a topic. It was too insensitive of her, to bring up the topic of her parents when both Morgans had a missing unit. Part of her wanted to be selfish and not care.

"I suppose you can say that we don't have expectations of what he's like. We can guess, but we don't remember."

"In a way, we're free from worrying about it." Morgan told her as he smiled gently, as if to tell her that it was okay. "Mother loves us, and that's enough."

"Chrom loves you, right?" There was an odd tone to Morgan's voice that Lucina could not place, and her brother nudges her to prompt her to speak again. "But I guess that isn't enough."

Those words struck her like a physical blow, a reminder of her selfishness. Her throat felt sticky and she shook her head, trying to work out something to say. So Lucina said what was on her mind. "I envy you."

Lucina would never replace her father. Her mother - some part of her wanted to be accepted but at the same time... she wished that she could have Morgan's happiness of not knowing. Of not wanting what she can't have.

Morgan reached out to embrace her, and Lucina allowed the girl to do so, awkwardly wrapping her arms around the smaller girl. It didn't seem like she wanted to let go and Lucina stood there limply. It felt strange, to want to be comforted and yet be left alone, but she isn't sure if she can bring herself to be angry at these two.

Morgan the brother led them both away from her mother's new dwellings, Lucina walking with some difficulty while Morgan the sister held onto her like a limpet. They were a strange sight for sure, but somehow they were able to weave their way through unnoticed until they reached what was meant to be both Morgans' tent.

The fabric meant to shelter them - still with that impressive, sizeable hole - was all but forgotten as Morgan tore through their packs and belongings with much gusto. Lucina was left confused and befuddled with an armful of the other Morgan.

It was a good sort of distraction, a good kind of insanity.

"We can share, if it's Lucina." Morgan solemnly told her from somewhere near her shoulder, glancing up to look at Lucina with clear brown eyes. It wasn't often that the Morgans made eye contact, and Lucina was struck by that realization only now, this close. There was something there that nagged at her, gone with a blink of the eye and Morgan has pulled back and away so that she could help with the other Morgan's mess.

Lucina isn't sure, wondering if it was a trick of the light but surely what she had seen couldn't have been-

"FOUND IT!" Morgan said triumphantly, pulling out the familiar, trademark black-and-purple coat from his pack. The other Morgan does too, and Lucina is once again confused when two coats are shoved at her. The twins had put them away when they began their efforts in learning the different arts.

"Um... do you need these mended too?" She hazarded.

"The latest in the Robin line of fashion!"

"A hood to hide your identity!"

"Distinctive markings to make you stand out in a crowd!"

"Cool fabric that lets you breathe in the heat and warms you in the cold! What's more, you can get an impressive flare when you move!"

"It's got state-of-the-art spell-o-fit technology! Its baggy lumpy shape will fit anyone between four-feet-eleven-inches and five-feet-five!"

The twins shared a look, seemingly assessing each other's height. Morgan the brother looks at Lucina instead while the other Morgan pouted and started to fold her coat away. "Wells, hers is. I'm a little taller, so you'll probably need to use mine. I'm excited - I've never dressed as the Hero-King before."

"But Lucina's a girl!" Morgan declared with a huff. "I want to have a try at Lucina's clothes."

"But the Hero-King was a man!"

"So? That didn't stop Lucina."

"What?" Lucina finally managed, unable to follow the flow of the conversation. "Morgan, what are you talking about- and stop that, where are we going?" Lucina yanked her arm from the Morgans' grasps and waited for the world to realign.

It wasn't.

"You want to have a mother, right?" "And we want to experience having a father."

Both Morgans looked solemn and understanding, twin reflections of her own ache and need. "It's... childish and selfish and maybe it's not going to work, but... just for a while. Please, Lucina. We think this is something you need too."

They were earnest and well-meaning, but some part of Lucina felt suspicious and sick at the thought of it. Replacing her mother for a little while, and sharing her father to her friends made her want to hold them tight even more, a jealous and greedy daughter that she was. But there were also these two; similarly jealous and greedy of their mother but willing to share, for mutual benefits.

It wasn't going to work. Lucina had her mother. Robin was a stranger to her, and even more now that Lucina had all but stalked her to make sure that she wouldn't proposition her father, Lucina does not know where she stands with her.

But it's tempting to try and pretend, just for a little while. A difference in perspective, wearing someone else's shoes. To be someone who isn't herself.

"Morgan? What happened to your tent? Did someone ransack your belongings?" The three are startled by that clear voice, authoritative even outside battles and calling out formations. Lucina is startled to find that she is holding Morgan's coat in her hand and as he had already retracted his hand, there was no way of letting it go. "Ah, hello Lucina."

Robin has approached them by now, the twins already babbling about getting their tent fixed and no, no wild animals had ravaged their things. Lucina sees her eyes flick towards her children and back to Lucina and the coat in her hand. She feels significantly more self-aware, like a child with her hand caught in the middle of poaching sweet bread.

"Go to Frederick and tell him what happened. I expect your things to be ready before supper." Robin told the twins, but her eyes are all on Lucina's, in that way that people had described as her thinking expression. Lucina has seen that expression before, right when Robin had decided to set the sea aflame with their ships. That kind of gravity roots Lucina at her spot, feeling as though she is waiting for her orders.

"Lucina, get dressed." Robin says with a nod to the cloak in her hand. "We'll begin your training when you're ready."

* * *

**Author's Note:** A Lucina chapter, though I'm not sure if I did her enough justice. I can't seem to grasp her character all that well. Also, it was hijacked by Morgan. Whenever I try to write Morgan, the fic derails from the original intent and lands somewhere I never expect. So... Marth's legacy is upheld by girls cosplaying his image.

Thank you for all the reviews so far; is it possible to reply to anon without having to do so in the fic body?


	9. Parallels:SideL (5a)

"Most of what I know I've learned through study. When I'm not doing tasks for the company, I read through as many books as I can. As we're short on time for lectures and as much as I'd like you to do some preliminary readings, I will have to ask you to shadow me for now." Robin tells her as they cut a brisk path toward the armory. Tucked under her arm are parchment paper and a quill. She's off to check their inventory, Lucina guesses, but doesn't know why she has to be involved too. Robin turns her head to look at Lucina, a small smile on her lips. "You've had prior experience at that anyway."

Lucina colors at the reminder of her previous attempts at pushing Robin away from her father. "I have stopped, truly I have. I know that you are sincere, and certainly nothing of that sort will happen." In her fluster, Lucina had subsequently missed the distracted, guilty expression on the tactician's face. "I am not aware of any training to be held today."

Robin stops and Lucina is quick to follow suit, facing the woman who now has that same assessing, calculating look as earlier. "I am not going to replace your mother." She tells Lucina directly, and watches the young woman's sudden intake of breath, the expected grimace.

"Robin, I- I am not aware of how much you've overheard," Lucina begins, and Robin forestalls her with a raised hand and a small smile.

"I've heard what they had to say." Robin tells her, her voice fond. "Morgan - both of them - are still so young, they still have much to experience. Their goal is naturally flawed, and their proposed execution is sloppy, but their idea is sound.

"I can never replace your mother, but I would like to be part of your life. I do want to get to know you better."

Lucina's breath hitches, and somehow, in the middle of camp and in the bustle of people, her attention has narrowed down to this point.

"I don't know what our relationship was like in the future," Robin continued, one hand raising to touch the back of her own neck as a blush bloomed on her face. "But Chrom is my friend, and I had always thought - expected, really - that I would have a hand in helping raise you. I would have wanted it, truly. But now that you are grown..."

There is the sincerity in her voice, in her delivery that Lucina couldn't help but scramble to think back, to recall this person in front of her. The memories prior to the increase in Risen attacks, the memories prior to her father's death elude her, and as much as she would like, Lucina cannot recall Robin, not her face nor her distinctive coat. But one of them stands clear in her mind, not a happy memory, but the one that stands most vividly in her memories.

Her hand rests on her side, on the hilt of her true father's blade. "Falchion." She says despite herself, wanting to reciprocate the connection that the other woman is attempting to build between them. "You were the one who delivered Falchion to me, after father... after he... but you disappeared afterward. Father's friends searched for you, but you were not to be found anywhere. After... after, we had thought the worst. -Robin?"

Robin looks pained, half-distracted now and touching one of her temples but before Lucina could inquire further, the woman had brushed it off. "Sorry, just a mild headache." She breathes for a moment and Lucina waits, feeling awkward after the delivery of her strange statement. "I'm sorry for bringing back such sad memories.

"I'd like to make more with you, now. I know you're not a child anymore, a grown woman, really." Robin rambles on. "Chrom is important to me, and you are his daughter, I want to be helpful to you in some way as well. If you think that my knowledge as a tactician can be of use to you, then I would gladly teach you what I know."

At that, their attention is drawn back to Lucina's hands, still holding Morgan's coat that she had neglected to return in the sudden haste Robin's departure from the their impromptu conference. The chance to learn from her father's chief tactician and friend, to expand her skills and capabilities.

Lucina returns her attention to Robin's face, at her patient expression and feels her resolve firm. "If you are willing, then I will gladly accept your offer."

"Good! Be warned, I'm not an easy taskmaster. Let's start with checking the weapons, and I'll assign you a book to read after."

"Yes!"

Lucina slides her arms into Morgan's coat sleeves, feels the weight of it settling on her shoulders and follows Robin to her tasks.

* * *

It is dark outside, and all that moves in this small haven is the flicker of her candle, Lucina's eyes and the movement she makes when she turns a page. Once more, sleep eludes her that evening, but Lucina finds that she sleeps better if she chases the nightmares of despair with knowledge.

Knowledge on how to make her family and friends live longer. Knowledge on how to keep them safer, how to prevent more casualties. The books that Robin lends her are dry and sometimes difficult to trudge through, but these are the books that allow Robin to extend their lives skirmish after battle after war, and Lucina finds that having both war documentation and theory close at hand and easily referenced against a person who lives by such information and produces good results gives Lucina a sense of hope.

It also gives her something else to think of, as well. Even with their duties, Robin had decided to dedicate some of their time to allow Lucina to test her tactics against Morgan. Both Morgans trump over her effortlessly individually, voracious readers as they were, but they earn nothing from Lucina but admiration and a determination to match their efforts.

Lucina's strength lay first and foremost in their physical training. Chrom had begun instructing both Morgans in addition to his usual spars with her, and had, once he had learned of their tactic battles, encouraged practicing with each other. Lucina still bests either or both of them, but only just.

She stands with the Morgans, sweaty and coming down from battle readiness and listens to Chrom and Robin's assessment and critiques of their skill, and comes to a realization.

Lucina was happy.

* * *

Lucina's hand feels heavy and she stares at Robin who stands peacefully in front of her. She reasons that it is the afternoon sun that makes her eyes sting and her hand waver with uncertainty. But her heart betrays her, and she, at this crucial stage of her plans, hesitates.

Her father takes the decision out of her hands, and Lucina is awash with guilt-ridden relief.

_I'm scared._ She wants to say. "I... I hope someday you will find it in your heart to forgive me..."

And looking at Robin's weary expression, the quiet grief and acceptance in her eyes, Lucina searches for the strength to believe.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hahahaha- this chapter was shorter than I expected, but it got longer and longer and I had to cut out a scene instead to put into the next one, then it got much shorter. ... oops. Thank you for reading this far.


	10. Parallels:SideM (5b)

Frederick was far more sympathetic to their cause than either Morgan expected. Well, to an extent. As it was, both of them sat on some unpacked crates as they sewed away, nimble fingers used to turning pages and wielding swords fumbling over the needles and threads that they were clumsily using. Poked fingers aside, Frederick was good counsel and instructor even outside their drills and training.

"I wonder where Lucina got her clothes, I really want to- ow!" Morgan sighs in distraction, and that momentary lapse was enough for her to prick her finger again. She made a face, and was subjected to a stern look and an inspection of her finger before she was deemed safe from any artery punctures.

"Mother is with her right now," Morgan says to Frederick while the man decided that his sister was safe. Morgan eyed his work critically, a patch on one side of the sizeable hole that they were never going to tell anyone about. Morgan did promise him her share of that night's candied fig, and her Pegasus was moping elsewhere. "Mother's teaching Lucina how to become a tactician too!" He waits as Frederick checks his work and grumbles to himself when the smiling man told him to redo a few stitches that did not pass inspection.

"It'll be amazing! There'd be more than just us wearing mother's coat!" Morgan quips, returning to her half of the hole. She leaned in as if to share a secret with Frederick. "It's a fashion statement."

"And more people learning from mother!" They said, pride in their mother's achievements evident.

But at the same time, the twins paused and looked at each other, jealousy twisting their expressions into unhappy grimaces. "On second thought, it's better if it's just us." Morgan concluded with a pout.

Frederick returned to his usual at-rest position, letting the twins' babble continue before he took a seat across them, but not too far from his earlier position. "Will you deny Lady Lucina's instruction?" He asks mildly, with a pleasant smile that brought chills down their backs.

"No! We thought we could share if it's Lucina." The twins share another speaking look between them, missing Frederick's speculative expression, the attentive way he had been observing them all this while. "Lucina is like a sister to us."

"I am gladly assured of your maturity."

"Thanks!" "Waitaminute..."

Morgan sighs and continued his patchwork dejectedly. "In the end, we didn't get Lucina's okay." That they were discussing this around Chrom's trusted aide was of no consequence.

"That's to be expected," Morgan sighs as well. "Sharing parents isn't very popular."

"Maybe we brought it up at the wrong time?"

"Maybe."

Frederick cleared his throat to get them back on track. "Why do you want to get closer to Chrom?" His expression was terrifying, exactly like the smile he had during formation training and the physical conditioning.

This was the man who was legendary in his devotion to their father. Quickly, they spilled what they could, babbling over each other in a jumbled mess.

"Chrom is awe-inspiring! And Lucina loves him very much. We want to know him better, that's all." "Chrom and Lucina are very cool, and they're so serious and amazing. We want to learn how to be like that too." "That's never going to happen." "No, not at all!" "But we still love mother." "Can we try to be like two people?" "That's hard... do we have enough attention span for that?" "Maybe we should give up." "That sounds terrible."

"Excuses!" Frederick raised his voice and the twins flinch and cower for a moment, chastened by the look he gave them. He didn't seem angry, no, but he still remained mild and that was what made it all the more terrifying. "A lord must always inspire admiration in those who choose to follow him. If you aspire to become like Chrom or the Lady Lucina, you will begin by ceasing this sorry show of self-pity. Stop slouching and sit properly. Hold your head high but never out of misplaced pride but out of self-assurance."

"But what if you're _not_ self-assured?" Morgan suddenly asked, her hand raised in question even as they both shifted into what seemed like proper sitting posture.

"Do you _lack_ self-assurance?" And there was that smile again, the one that promised something terrible if they answered wrongly.

"No sir! Just a hypothetical question!"

Frederick looked at them both, stern and almost grave and they would rather turn away from such a piercing gaze. "There is one thing that you must do, above all else. Do you think you are able to do it?"

"We can do it!" The said with much enthusiasm. Anything at all, to be like them.

"If you would excuse my intrusion," Frederick says and that is when both twins have a clear view of his face, his eyes. His hands grip their chins, forcing them to look at him. He gazes at each of them in turn, and they do not know what he is inspecting them for, but they hold still.

When they realize why, it's too late.

"To meet someone's eyes is to see their humanity, to meet them in a personal level." Frederick tells them lowly, as if imparting an important lesson. He lets them go and eases back. His voice gentles. "And to meet someone's eyes without fear is to accept oneself. There is no reason to hide yourself away from people whom you can trust."

* * *

As if in apology, Frederick has them decked out in what Cynthia had dubbed as their "super cool hero clothes!" Owain thought it was a "mid-season design change!", Nah refused to comment and Severa had all but stared and demanded when the exchange-costume party had begun.

It was, they had overheard Chrom tell their mother before they had begun their trek to the Valmese capital, utterly mortifying and raised morale. He also said that he was going to talk to Frederick after things had concluded.

Morgan didn't know why he had to, when he and his sister were hyped up, he decked in their father's clothes when he was younger (and smaller) and Morgan dressed in Lucina's clothes, having needed to trade with their sister. And now, they had the chance to double (triple?) up with their father. They were aware of how grave things were, and how important this battle was for their campaign, but somehow, the gravity of the war couldn't burst the bubble of family-style happiness they were experiencing.

Not too far from him, his sister danced around her enemies with an energized flourish, cape aflutter as she shone with each of her strikes. Lucina's clothes were an ill fit, but Morgan was a quick study and had adapted to it well enough. Morgan sighs softly to himself when he feels the pang of jealousy; Aegis was beautiful to behold, and so far, he had yet to even work his way up to a Sol, much less chain it with a Luna.

"She's certainly enjoying herself." Chrom sighs from behind him, and Morgan is displaced when his father shoulders him away from the trajectory of an arrow. "But you mustn't let her distract you!" He sounds stern now, bringing Morgan down from his thoughts. "We're at war, Mark! Focus! Morgan's too far now, we must catch up to her."

Morgan is startled at the strange address but nods immediately, searching out his sister and they make a break for it. There are enemies along the way, but Morgan wraps his hand around the grip of his sword and raises his arm with a triumphant smirk as he feels the beginnings of a conflagration. While he might not be able to use the skill his father and sisters used with ease, Morgan was quite content with the judicious use of his mother's skill.

"Chrom!" He hears over the fighting, and he searches out the source of the voice. It was mother's, and one of the most recognizable in their army; even if Morgan forgot it, they were still instructed to learn and listen to what was being said. He catches sight of two hooded figures headed for them, the familiar black with violet trim only after his father finds them first. "I've found the easiest path to Walhart."

A hand comes up to pull the hood off, and he sees his mother's face, but she barely spares him any attention, trading speaking looks with Chrom and Morgan does not know how to decipher it. Instead, he looks toward Lucina, who had broken away to lead their other sister back to them.

After a moment, Robin nods and gestures for Chrom. "Chrom, you're with me. We're going after Walhart. Morgan, Morgan, you will be with Lucina. Listen to her, and make sure that there will be no interruptions."

"Yes."

Chrom reaches out to ruffle his and his sister's hair and smiles warmly at Lucina. "Take care of each other."

There really was no reason to worry, Morgan thought, after they storm the capital at the shadow of their sister and following the lead of their parents, after they succeed in ending the war, not with family bonds this strong.

* * *

Morgan paces. Back and forth, back and forth, and she feels her brother's eyes on her. She wishes she could be graceful like Inigo, more assertive like Owain, and a little more headstrong, like Cynthia, but all that she is now is a nervous wreck.

They both were, honestly.

They hadn't been there, when Chrom had come back from the Plegian palace with that stony expression. When mother had come back with her hood up and had refused to tell them what had happened. When Lucina had brokenly told them that the Fire Emblem had been stolen before she had gone off to brood. They hadn't been there, and now they are unable to cut through the distance that had sprung between their family so suddenly.

They had already seen Chrom lead their mother back to her tent by the elbow. They would loved to know what they were doing, but it didn't seem like the best time. And there was still one more person they were waiting for to return.

When they spot Lucina, it takes her brother stepping in front of their sister before Lucina takes notice of them. Lucina looks aggrieved, and Morgan is already stepping closer to ask what had happened when Lucina starts to take off her coat, dark and ominous under the moonlight.

It is held out to their brother, and they are too stunned, too confused at the gesture finish their inquiry.

"I'm so sorry. I… please take it back. I don't deserve to wear this."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The Morgans-side companion piece to Lucina's chapter, going from Lucina 1 - Morgans 1 - Lucina 2 - Morgan 2 - Lucina 3 - Morgan 3. The final battle against Walhart was glossed over, and happily skipped Validar's trap for the Lucina confrontation. It's a little confusing. Countdown to endgame begins, but I might meander some more before getting to that point...


	11. Unexpected Gifts (6)

They celebrate their success away from the walls of Valm and out in the wilderness. It is a decision that has been made with care; it was expected, almost understood by all parties that it is within their rights to indulge in their victory in their acquired territory. As it was, there was some grumbling when it had been decided that they were not going to stay, but it was non-negotiable, and there was a message that they wanted to send.

Many of the Valmese who had believed in and were loyal to Walhart could and would share his philosophy. To someone like Walhart and those who followed him, it was might is right. In Valm, they are grudgingly accepted as conquerors, but invasion has never been their intention. To those whom it mattered, their movement across the continent of Valm was a preemptive strike, bringing the battle to those who began it.

They are not here to overthrow Walhart. Their purpose had always been to stop the invasion and subjugation of the Ylissian continent.

As it is, they have left Valm without a ruler, and the power vacuum left in Walhart's wake is immense. It falls to upon the citizens of Valm or even the neighboring dynasts to decide Walhart's successor; it is not Chrom's intention to join such a contest. And so, they take shelter out on the road, where it is defensible and with little risk of assassinations.

This does not stop the celebrations, no. Robin smiles good-naturedly and waves off invitations to join this and that campfire and is loathe to dampen their good spirits. Those with good sense will stem their intake of beer and wine, like many of Chrom's Shepherds. Their vigilance allows Robin to breathe a little easier that she smiles a little too cheerfully when she sees Frederick and Cordelia on their rounds of camp.

"You will find them near the outpost," Frederick tells her after he bade Cordelia to separate paths.

He stares at her for a moment longer as if he wanted to say something else. Something speculative in his gaze discomfits Robin, but she doesn't ask about it, isn't sure if she is ready to open that can of worms. She thanks him and goes in the direction he indicated.

Is it Basilio? It couldn't be, not this soon, not when it was too risky for him to be seen, and surely preparations have not been completed-

It isn't the West Khan. Chrom stands with both Morgans and Lucina, seated together around their own little spit. Robin stands at a distance and observes them, their wide smiles and easy interaction, her children with Lucina and their father. She recalls what her children had said, when they had all but pleaded Lucina to share her father. There is no prior experience for Robin to draw knowledge from, but perhaps... this is what a family looks like.

A family, something that could be hers, had she chosen differently that day. A family that she could have now, if she said yes. Now that the war is over, she can give these thoughts attention, but it is never that simple.

She will have to destroy this, just so that she can make space for herself. She does not know if she can do that.

It is Chrom who notices her first, somehow, and the smile that appears on his face brings heat to her face. He beckons for her, a casual gesture of his arm and the offering of an open palm. "Robin, there you are! What are you doing in the dark, come here."

She puffs out a little laugh in exasperated amusement and moves toward him, toward the people who welcome her with smiles. Lucina looks satisfied and content, much more rested than Robin has ever seen her, but her eyes are glittering with a secret – a pleasant one, it seemed.

"Mother!" Both Morgans call out to her as she takes a seat between them, across from Chrom and his daughter. Her son presses against her side, with one hand on her arm as if to plead for something, and her daughter leans away, as if to get a better view.

From the corner of her eyes, Robin observes the way Chrom tenses, the way Lucina has that attentive air to her. There is a script here, a scene that they have rehearsed for her. She is curious – just what did they come up with?

"I need to ask you for permission."

"What kind of permission, Morgan?" For a moment, she thinks the worst, something that would involve this particular mix of people. A practical joke, perhaps. Or perhaps Morgan wanted to learn how to use Falchion, but that wasn't something that-

"Mark."

She reroutes her thoughts and tenses in sudden worry, her first reaction to glance at his eye, the only mark on his body, most distinctive and not one that she likes to advertise. Have they told Lucina-? Morgan squeezes her arm to catch her attention again, and he shakes his head emphatically, looking bashful and awkward, eager to please, yet afraid of rejection.

"F- Chrom gave me that name," he said shyly. "He said that if we – you and I – were alright with it, then I can have it. So that people won't get Morgan and I confused anymore."

Her breath catches in her throat and Robin looks up to meet Chrom's eyes. She sees his hopeful half-smile, and she knows that he will understand if she says no. He will not blame her if she refuses him a part of their lives; this act would not change anything between them.

"I started thinking of him that way," Chrom says, and Robin doesn't remember to look to the children to see their reactions. "And I started calling him that even outside of my head."

But things have changed, and that's something that Robin can't deny, not any more than she already has. It isn't just her that he's thinking about, it seems. Ever since Morgan and Mark came into their lives, Chrom had given this – them – thought. Robin's heart feels swollen with some emotion that is immeasurable and vast, and she does not understand it.

Even if Chrom wasn't the father – no, that was the wrong way to go about this. She would never shut him out of their children's lives, not when he was already a part of it. Not when the children – and she as well – chosen him.

"… can I have it?" Mark brings her back to the present.

She cups her boy's cheek and brushes her thumb over his right eyelid, the meaning not lost to either of them. "Mark."

Chrom had very bad taste. She laughs and wonders if Chrom ever had any pets, and if he did, she could already imagine their names. It was a little too obvious, but it is very like Chrom to name their son after his marking, just as Lucina is named after their hope for peace.

"Of course. Mark is a good name for you." She thinks she will ask Chrom about what he thought of Morgan's.

Robin's chest is full of feelings she does not want to name.

* * *

Their return to Ylisstol carries the urgency of families to be reunited, good tidings to be shared, and Lady Tiki's ill omen, yet their trek to Valm Harbor is slow. This is due partly to the number of their comrades who had been injured in the battles, the pockets of Resistance they find and are invited to dine with, and the number of Risen that terrorize the countryside.

This activity and slow tour of the continent, while completely unplanned, puts them in a positive light among the locals. Typical, Robin thinks with a fond smile as she smooths down her coat, that the Shepherds would win the hearts of those whom they help, all because of what they did best: helping the helpless. The more they are known, however, the more attention they get when they pass by a settlement. The attention she gets is also troublesome; they already have a name for her: the Exalt's Tactician. Wouldn't wearing this only draw more unnecessary and unwanted attention?

"Do you need any help?" Sumia asks, ever eager to help.

"Come on out, Robin! You're taking too long!" Lissa's voice urges her, the tent material doing nothing to muffle her cheery call.

"It's alright. I'm done." After one more tug that does nothing to help extend the hem, Robin turns away from her self-assessment and waffles. This was not a good idea at all. But she takes a deep breath and goes out of the washing tent and into the fire of her friends' curious and critical eyes.

"It'll do," Maribelle says with a narrow-eyed stare, then nods as if to confirm it to herself.

Olivia is a little more sensitive to Robin's plight. "How is it?"

"Drafty," she tells them and makes a point of tugging at her skirt to cover more of her thighs. It earns her some laughs and a few indulgent smiles, but the new attire is truly too short for her liking. "I like the coat, but does it have to be this short?" she asks, and turns her attention to the pegasus knights and their resident wyvern rider.

Cherche's smile is too wide for her liking, Sumia is blushing, and Cordelia answers for them. "You weren't complaining when you were training as a pegasus knight."

"That was that, and this is this." Robin fusses for a moment, voicing her insecurities in mild complaining that has no meaning. She knows, though, that this was created with the intention that she will wear it longer than she has the others. The design is close to the clothes that she had worn for as long as she could remember, not like the uniforms she ends up scrounging up whenever she tried a new role. She smooths down the coat, noticeably high quality even through the buttery texture of her new gloves. "You made this?"

"Mmhmm!" Lissa puffed up, but decides to give credit where it's due. "Well, alright. Sumia and I designed it, Olivia and Maribelle got the materials and Cherche and Cordelia did the sewing."

Robin turns to Sully, who has a distracted look to her face like she was puzzling something out. It's not that she thinks Sully isn't inclined toward clothes-making, but there's probably another reason why she's here to watch the pageantry. After all, she never did seem interested in what would count as unnecessary primping, and this could count as one. Sully snaps out of it and satiates Robin's curiosity. "What, me? Nothing of that girly stuff. I made sure the armor was functional."

"Thank you." She looks at her friends, humbled by this gift. "You didn't have to do this."

"Other than getting you to wear something new, this does have benefits for us too." Maribelle tells her, her hands squeezing her parasol anxiously at the thought of Robin's old clothes. "It's difficult to tell you, Lucina and the Morgans apart from a distance when you are all wearing the same style. It does not do for us to misplace our tactician in the field."

It makes sense, in an odd sort of way, but Robin is still trying to pinpoint the reason why it sits wrong with her.

She catches sight of Chrom watching her in a way that makes her blush. He had been taking to Frederick, but he breaks the conversation to look at her. It is flattering, the attention and reaction that she gets, but she does not linger. Lissa tows her away to show off their handiwork and Robin feels nothing of the embarrassment that she felt earlier and instead holds her head high.

Wearing this thing might not have been a bad idea at all.

* * *

Their return to Ylisstol heralded a provisional peace. Now that the war to stop Walhart has concluded, other duties occupy their time. Robin sees to the post war arrangements, and tackles the summary reports her aide had done in her absence. War did not fund itself, and no matter what one gains upon victory, it's never enough to shoulder the losses.

Many things preoccupy Chrom; he handles the state affairs, searches for the last gemstone, and spends time with his daughter, whom he had sorely missed. Even so, he makes time for Robin, coming to her study to discuss what has been done and needs doing. Sometimes, he brings with him some little trinket or other, gifts that flatter her.

Robin, on the other hand, begins to avoid Chrom, makes excuses when he enters the same room and slips into corridors and even behind [people] to escape his attentions. Or rather, she attempts to make efforts not to avoid him. Regardless, the end result is the same.

She isn't sure if it is hypersensitivity to his presence or otherwise, but now that she is aware of his interest in her - no, now that she is aware of her own feelings for him, Robin feels exposed, transparent and raw. The more time they spent together, the more she grew fond of him and his admittedly clumsy and cute efforts at wooing her.

It wasn't anything special, not all that different from what they usually do when they were together.

As it was, all the time she spent with him was already suspect. There were many who were already questioning the coolness in Chrom's interactions with his wife. That they brought back with them their children from the future – a story that was hard to believe, despite its truth – only increased the endless speculation.

That Robin came back with twins without having a husband or a lover gave idle minds and loose tongues the incentive to question their parentage. The inquiries were numerous, and renewed her friends' efforts to find someone to fill in that role.

There was a conspiracy brewing, she can tell. But there were only so many conversations she can backpedal out of, and Frederick's stern eye on her whenever he was within earshot of these discussions only made her want to shrink.

Her awareness of Chrom has skyrocketed to new frontiers of discomfort. Everything that they could help, and could not, drove a wedge between them and Robin helps it along, all because of her inability to resolve her feelings on the matter.

It drives her to both distraction and part insanity.

It did, however, give Robin the opportunity to find the best places to hide from her lord.

"Your father is a bull-headed man," Robin says to baby Lucina gravely as they both sat on the floor, and gets a gummy smile in return. The child was propped up in pillows and kept from the chill of the floor with rugs and blankets. Robin holds a thick book of child-appropriate reading she had borrowed from Sumia some time ago. "I suppose I have to give him an answer soon."

She sighs and presses her fingers between her eyes. When she opens them again, the queen stands above her, silent and forbidding.

"Do you have time, tactician?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Many many maaaaany thanks to Amielleon who gave this chapter a very thorough (and much deserved) evisceration, without whom this chapter would make significantly less sense. Thank you for the reads, reviews, and follows this fic has gotten.

Timeskips are done again, and I'll be editing the summary/chapter titles soon-ish.


	12. Unexpected Gifts (7)

She hadn't intended on doing this here.

Had it been anyone else in this room, in her daughter's nursery, Elira would never find herself doing something so uncouth, unrefined. She would have turned a blind eye, had this homewrecker not been here, with the only one Elira can call her family, her daughter, her Lucina.

Didn't they already have a Lucina of their own? Elira feels her lips twist in distaste despite herself. She had been trying to regain her bearings in the familiar shelter of the capital, where she had been brought up all her life, where things were the usual, where things were still recognizable, still within the realms of the status quo.

As much as she wanted to avoid the problem, it seems as though Robin was _kind_ enough to be where Elira went.

All it did was to drive the point in: even if they have returned, things will not fall into place. She cannot live in ignorance; her husband will now remain distant and will keep looking at another woman that is not her. The experiences she has had out in the war had opened her eyes to the difference of living outside of the safety of Ylisstol, noble or not. There was more to the life of a Shepherd, and that none of it has suited her; the constant travel, sleeping outside without the comfort of a permanent shelter, the endless _fighting_ and perhaps worst of all, the way she has to stay behind, each time and wondering if her husband was going to be one of the bodies brought in, either by injury or death.

No, that wasn't quite the worst.

Had she allowed the Exalt to go alone, she would have lived in blissful ignorance of the day to day toiling, the fighting and the reality of the mortal peril he puts himself in. That was terrible.

Admitting to herself that the worst was, selfishly, the realization that regardless of whether or not Elira had been there, what sacrifices she has made - the comforts of the castle, her entering the battlefield where there was no place for her, the _time_ with their daughter - her husband would have his eyes on another woman.

And, perhaps, even worse than that, Elira would never have known this if she hadn't come along. For this realization, Elira had paid the price with the safety of her ignorance, her simple happiness in her marriage, her relationship with her husband.

Perhaps, in a way, this meeting is serendipitous.

Everything that is at this moment is everything that they have been avoiding for far too long. They were connected by one man, and one man alone, and had it not been for Chrom, they would never have met.

No. That isn't quite right.

Elira looks at the woman before her, at the clear, intelligent eyes on an attractive face, at her unusual coloring.

She knows she can't compare. Not against Robin, beloved by the Shepherds.

She looks to the baby between them, whose bright eyes tracks them both curiously. That her baby cannot seem to choose between her mother who had carried her for nine months and the woman, this usurper who reads her stories she has yet to understand.

She steps forward to take Lucina from her cocoon, and finds herself experiencing immense satisfaction at the narrowing of Robin's eyes, the tensing of her frame.

This woman is a war veteran, a fearsome tactician, but _Elira_ is Lucina's mother. This much was her right.

And all of that is because of Robin. It is the king who ties them together, a man whom Elira had believed loved her, a man who _had_ thought that he had loved her. Perhaps that had been the case, in some way. But Elira had been dragged across the two continents, had jumped off a ship while the ocean burned, had slept in camps that had to be packed up barely a few hours after settling, and had seen things as they were.

She was not needed. She was not necessary to her husband, useless and helpless for her lack of ability outside of the insular Ylisstol castle. Out in the field, beauty was a luxury, image secondary to capability; even now, Elira finds herself awed by how people transformed outside of what she knew.

These were the people whom she and her peers had spent most of their childhood belittling; Chrom's ragtag group who would rather play with swords and tomes, who would rather to go out and fight for farmers' fields, of catching thieves and making soldiers out of themselves. Desperate prickly Maribelle, unfeminine Sully who had never grown out of playing with swords, the geeky obsessive Miriel, the helpless and utterly hopeless Sumia, the distant and snooty Cordelia.

Elira feels humbled after seeing them in their element. There is gritty beauty in what they were doing, more honest than she has ever experienced among the nobles: Maribelle's dignity in battle, Sully's natural command of the field, Miriel with her terrifying precision, the self-assurance Sumia has on the saddle, the way Cordelia hovered over the camp like a second Frederick.

By then, her fantasy wedded life as wife to the king had been exposed to reality, and its superficial coating had warped and rusted to show how badly constructed its foundations were.

It may be that she had wedded the king, but if there was anyone whose counsel he heeds - no, if there was anyone that would be able to influence him to do as he did not want, it would be his tactician.

She would not be here, queen and wife, if it were not for his tactician.

Elira turns to Robin, watching her as she got up from her sitting position to a more neutral stance. She had believed that commitment was enough to give her husband the incentive to feel passionately for her. Elira had no reason to complain. The man was king, and she herself found that despite his childish need to fight and train, he was still attractive. To her, being chosen, to be selected as his wife was like a dream come true.

But even when she was meant to be his companion, she had never been his confidant. He is kind to her, dines with her in the mornings, and comes to her bed after the day is done. She thought that was enough.

However... their relationship was made clear to her when she had insisted that they separate quarters and gave him no choice on the matter. She wanted to see what difference it would make, if her loss would impact him. Selfish as it was, as shallow as it was, she wanted him to show her that he did care for her.

During the day, he attended to what needed to be done – he dined with her, conferred with his tactician on matters and dealt with the army, led the march or joined training, and at the end of the day, he would spend it with that woman then would once more confer with his tactician.

She had hoped - so naively - that he would be more considerate toward her for the separation. To think of her first, before everything else.

All it did was to make her realize that she did not even rank in the list of his priorities.

She was not enough, in the face of what he needed. It grates at her, this impotence, his utter disregard of her, how she is taken for granted.

How Robin, even now, takes for granted Elira's presence, her significance in the family Robin is making herself a part of. Elira is not surprised; someone who had as little self-awareness as the amnesiac couldn't be expected to be considerate.

She asks Robin the first and simplest question she can think of.

"Did you do this to ruin me?" she asks, attempting to remove the venom and bitterness in her voice. She does not succeed. "Why me?"

There was never any doubt that she had been chosen. That it had not been by her husband leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

_She is the Exalt's wife_.

"I beg your pardon, milady?" Robin intones, confused and cautious. Clueless and harmless, when she isn't.

Elira holds her baby, her arms finding the long-missed weight of her daughter. She smiles down at Lucina's chubby little face, a minor distraction that she wants to indulge. _No_, she shakes her head, _that was the wrong question to ask_. "Why would you give him to me, only to take him away?"

There is silence, uncomfortable as Elira allows Robin to think up her excuses. It was a simple enough a subject, and they both know what she means.

"I'm not. I won't take your place," Robin says softly, enunciates it carefully, "I will not ruin what you have with him."

_How could she not understand?_ Elira wants to strangle this woman, whose brilliance and presence in war dims when faced with her own circumstances.

"You mistake my words, tactician," she says and their eyes meet. There is steel in her eyes, grief and desperation mingling together. "There is no place for you to take, as there is nothing between myself and the Exalt for you to ruin."

She watches the way Robin looks at her, the way she opens body language to calm her down. "You know that's not true," Robin says. "Chrom loves you."

In a way, he does. But... this is reality; Chrom may think he loves her, but when weighed against his love for everything else, Elira refuses to delude herself any longer. She will not stand for Robin to do the same, not when it is her life, her dignity on the line, all because Robin could not decide on her course of action. "Stop lying to me!" The look Elira is given for her outburst, the guilt morphing into fickle calculation, only infuriates her. Lucina begins to squirm in her arms. "Stop lying to yourself!"

"I'm not," Robin says slowly, as if testing the waters.

"Don't you ever think of yourself first?" she shoots back, and again there is the incomprehension, the lack of understanding that sickens her.

"What does that have anything to do with this?"

"Everything!" Robin's brand of selflessness has ruined Elira's life, her marriage, her child's life. "This is all your fault!" Her voice rouses Lucina into a fit of crying, and she finds herself too angry to care. There is little reaction in Robin past the widening of her eyes, the dawning realization on her expression, but there was still that lack of self-awareness.

That isn't enough, not for Elira, and certainly not something that she will allow the Exalt to encourage.

"Take responsibility for your actions!" she all but screams, frustration and anger building in the face of Robin's growing horror. "If only you had married him yourself, then you would have spared me the heartache... if you had the courage to take the risk, then you will be in my position, in my place, where you are a better fit than I am!"

"I'm not-" Robin begins, simple, token protests that mean nothing in the face of Elira could see was the beginnings of a realization.

"You had your chance to get what you want," Elira interrupts her, gently rubbing Lucina's back, completely contrary to the growing confidence that emboldens her. "And yet, you had gone out of your way to find someone else to push your responsibilities on. What are you so afraid of? If you want something, take it!"

She takes a breath and holds Robin's eyes. "Don't make others suffer for your cowardice."

Robin begins her mumbles of denial but Elira won't apologize, not for the truth, not for the futures she could have had, not for the life that she has stolen from her. Lucina continues to cry despite her attempts to quieten her.

"What is going on here!" Her husband enters the room to this noise, looking between her and his tactician, to Lucina in her arms. Chrom's eyes stop on Robin, and while it is the room's occupants that he addresses, he looks to her first.

It makes Elira sick. The indignity of it is what prompts her to address her husband. "Well, are you going to pursue her or not? Or are you waiting for her to reply?" A reply that would never come, she thinks.

"Elira, what are you going on about?" Chrom finally looks at her. As if she didn't know; as if she could not tell his growing affections for his tactician, the more time he spent in her presence, the way he looked at her.

"You love her, don't you?" She hates how she has to play the villain, how she needs to spell it out for them. She sees the unhidden surprise on his face, the draining of color of his tactician's face. "Are you waiting for her to allow you to bed her?"

The words are callous, disgusting in her mouth.

"That's not it-" Chrom begins, but there is the horror on his face, the way he was awkwardly attempting to defend himself that only gives fuel to her ire.

"What about me? Are you going to keep me on the side in case she turns you down?" She holds Lucina to her chest. Lucina is her lifeline, her only connection to him, and perhaps the only reason why he would keep her, for after. "Am I just a spare for you, simply someone to bear your child with?"

His expression is stricken, and there was the odd glint to his tactician's eyes that she does not like. Instead, she focuses on Chrom, her husband, his awkward denials. She focuses on his hand as it reaches for her, open-palmed and beseeching.

"Don't touch me!" she says, and sees the moment when Chrom's heart drops with his hand.

"I know. I'm sorry." It means nothing, his words mean nothing, and no matter what she does, she will always play second fiddle to Robin.

She gathers her courage, her resolution, and speaks. "Make your choice," she tells Chrom. In the end, it was only he to whom she answered. "Or I will make mine."

"I..." She watches his reaction, the way his eyes flicker between herself and Robin. Again, looking for his tactician's input. That was enough of an answer for her.

She turns sharply, holding Lucina against her bosom. She will not hear their answer today, not when all they would have for her are excuses. She will not be part of the dances they are making, and certainly not part of their tragic drama written by a fool. Her virtuosity was spent, her dignity ruined, and all that would remain was her pride.

Regardless of what she does, no matter who it is that Chrom chooses or how active a participant Robin is, Elira will lose. If he picked his tactician, then Elira would be forced to turn a blind eye to the affair. If he picked her, then she would forever be haunted by the reality that he did not love her, even if they were together, even if they had Lucina.

None of these things would make her happy. She holds her child to her cheek, kisses her forehead tenderly.

She won't let them trample on her happiness again.

* * *

"Gods damn it!" Chrom punches the baby's bed. It's a miracle that it survives. He would like to deny what his wife has said, but there is some grain of truth in her words. He might not have wanted to hurt her, but he is.

Not once had he stopped to consider what she had been feeling. He had been too preoccupied, thinking of Robin, of his daughters, his son. But that's no excuse. He turns to Robin, sees the thoughtful look on her face, the furrowed brow that signified her worry. His heart stops for a moment, suddenly guilty. She shouldn't have been pulled into that argument, not when it was a confrontation that should have been kept between himself and Elira.

That he thinks of Robin first, and not his wife makes Chrom's lips twist with the realization of his own shortcomings, his flaws.

His cruelty. Elira does not deserve what he's done to her.

"She will leave," Robin tells him, subdued in her manner of speaking, her eyes distant as she thought of possibilities and probabilities that would make Chrom's head spin.

"Huh?" he says, trying trying to follow her train of thought. "Why?"

Lucina was here, her life was here. Why would she ever leave?

"Because we've ruined her life." Robin gives him a wry smile. "You were never quite aware of your status, were you? The pressure of it all... She is queen, yes, but that would make things even more difficult," she breathes. "What would you do, if your very public husband began to publicly pursue another woman?"

He flinches. "Had things been different... no. Perhaps things would have been different, had we more things in common." He sighs.

"You have Lucina," Robin reminds him gently, though he needn't one. "... I had hoped..."

"-that we would learn to love each other?" He completes her thought, "so did I."

Robin breaks away from their direct address, moving instead to pick up a book from the floor, tidying away what could only be Lucina's mat. "It's my fault, for..."

_For choosing the wrong person. For deciding on the wrong course of action._ These words hang between them, and Chrom knows that she blames herself for what has happened, that she will continue to do so until she finds a solution.

"No." Chrom kneels in front of her, knowing how difficult the process had been for her. He couldn't allow her to beat herself up for something that was at the most, his failings. "I think we handled marriage poorly, you and I." They had managed love poorly.

He does not want to make that mistake again, and, looking at her, they both knew that they wanted to make amends.

"I need you to help me decide on what we must do."

They had begun this together, and he had once expressed his wish to continue this course side-by-side. It was only right, that they would continue to do so.

* * *

He paces the length of his quarters, large and empty and cold. He glances at the fire he has asked a servant to feed. He is nervous, yes, accountably so.

The candlemark reaches its end. The flame stutters and dies; the hearth is still crackling - these things carry on without worry for urgency, as they should. Despite this, there is expectant silence, filling Chrom's senses and expands within it; time seems to go too slowly when there is something that he waits for.

This is the period where the guards change shifts, the moment when they are at the height of their alertness.

The knock comes, and Chrom stumbles over himself trying to get to the door. He yanks it open and sees Robin there, dressed in nothing but a thin slip and an expression that mirrors his own. The halls are chilly and he doesn't hesitate to pull her close, a thank you and an apology and a welcome.

They linger far too long at the doorway, he rubbing at her arms to help give her warmth, and she pressing closer to share heat. He has more clothes on, and this is as close as he could get without handing her one of his shirts.

Should anyone see them, well, all the better. They have to be seen, to give his wife justification for what she to do.

When they are in his room, in his bed, she trembles when she pulls up the hem of her dress. His heart aches, and his body yearns for it, but he stops her and holds her close instead.

"Not like this," he whispers into her ear, "I don't want us to start things for the wrong reasons."

This is not how he wished to start his relationship with her. They have made enough mistakes, mistakes they have to learn from.

Mistakes that he does not want to risk, not with Robin, who has yet to give him her answer.

He spends the night cocooned in her arms, the woman whom he loves. He keeps the evening chaste and as honorable as possible, and he does not push her for anything else - she isn't ready for anything beyond companionship and Chrom tells her, tells himself, that he is willing to wait. He falls asleep thinking of the wife he is setting free, the stinking trap that was Plegia's invitation, the possibility of death should the Awakening find him unworthy.

Chrom thinks that he's unworthy of many things. His sister... Emm – would she approve of this, had she lived?

Robin's touch against his neck calms him, her embrace enough distraction against pessimistic thoughts. When he wakes to her thrashing in the throes of a nightmare, he holds her until she wakes and the shivers subside.

They are two halves of the same whole.

* * *

The next morning, they are back on the road and headed for Plegia. By mid-afternoon, the court is abuzz with speculation, of a woman joining the king in his chambers the night before. That evening, the queen is spotted fleeing the borders.

The next morning, an envoy reaches their party and delivers the news.

They would have let her go, would have allowed it, if she hadn't brought Lucina with her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Credits go to Tempu, without whom this chapter would never have been written _ever_ and to Amielleon, without whom this would have been an incoherent babble. Should there still be more incoherent babble, that would be purely my fault.

It's incredibly difficult to write Chrom's wife, and it made this chapter so frustrating to tackle. I'm just glad that I'm over that hurdle, and now I have to start tackling the next chapter. Longfic writers who get to update regularly, you have my admiration and awe.

Once more, thank you to all the readers old and new (?! so many now!) and hope to see you all for the next chapter.


	13. Unexpected Gifts (8)

The fate of the world against his daughter.

Chrom stares at the messenger without truly seeing her, and has to school his expression into something more neutral than how he feels. Worry and panic, certainly, mingling with anger and protectiveness that triggers his recollection of Frederick's common mantra when Chrom had been young and more temperamental, _there are faces you can show, but only when you allow it_.

He repeats this in his mind again and again.

This isn't what he expected, when he and Robin decided on their farce. They had pretended to sleep together - will continue to do so, Robin had assured him of her part in it - for Elira's justification. So that it would be easier, in this difficult and twisted situation, for her to find something else to be happy, away from Chrom.

If she had left without warning Chrom would be seen as a man who had been left by a fickle wife. On the other hand, if Chrom was caught in an adulterous relationship with another woman... well, his pride was a small price to pay.

But whatever it was that Elira decided to do after that ruse, Lucina was not supposed to be part of it.

He is struck by how time seems to move too quickly, far too fast for his liking. Frederick is already providing the pegasus knight and her mount with water to refresh them, and Chrom turns his attention away from it; it would become an unnecessary distraction if he allows it to be.

Instead, he looks toward Robin, awaiting her counsel. She deliberately does not look at him, and he can see in her expression just how occupied she is with her thoughts, and he knows that she's already weighing this development against what they had planned, revising and perhaps coming to a conclusion even before he truly grasps the situation; he wonders if she had already known that this would happen. It's an idle thought, the grasping of a father whose daughter isn't where he left her, where he thought it would be safe.

He wants to ask Robin what he must do, if only to feel her presence reaching back, to know that he isn't alone. But she does not look at him, uncharacteristically silent and lacking in suggestions.

Chrom needs to decide whether they were to press onward to Plegia, to Validar and the last gemstone, or to double back and retrieve Lucina. He looks up and sees Lady Tiki standing among those gathered by the commotion, looking at him with a serene, unreadable expression.

The more he dawdles, the farther Elira and Lucina get. The more he allows his indecisiveness to lead him, the more excuses he gives Validar to raise his yet-unknown demands.

The fate of the world hangs in the balance; without Sable, he can't perform the Awakening, and without the Awakening, they cannot prevent the events that may trigger the future his children have come from.

Sometimes, Chrom finds that he loathes that House Ylisse has to bear the responsibility of the Fire Emblem, that there is only ever one Falchion.

There are two, now. "Father," Lucina intones, and Chrom looks away from Robin to see Lucina glancing between himself and Robin before she finally rests her attention on him. "I propose-" here she stops to gather herself, "-that we journey on to Plegia. I- Lucina can wait."

"I can't-" He is conflicted. He doesn't want to put the world before his Lucina, either one of them. As it was, the daughter he has right in front of her already looks too tense, defensive and resigned.

Once more, Robin comes to his rescue. "She's right," Robin finally says, and now her attention is on the both of them. She smiles to be rid of the sting of disagreement, and holds Chrom's eyes for a moment before looking at Lucina.

His Lucina, who doesn't know that her parents aren't on good terms, who doesn't know that her mother has left for good, and that he is in love with her mentor.

"It's alright. Elira loves her daughter, and nothing will harm Lucina while she's with her mother." That the Lucina with them is excluded in Robin's declaration adds tension in their group. However confident the tactician can be, and no one would contest her claim, not when they were used to hearing that particular tone of voice whenever one of her plans have proven successful, those in attendance had their eyes on Lucina.

It was nearly a public declaration of a truth that was better left unsaid, but had been festering in his daughter. Instead of shrinking from the barely veiled reality, it instead brings back the confidence in Lucina, and there is a glitter of selfless pride there, pride in her mother and family, and Chrom lets go of the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Chrom can send the pegasus knights to guard the queen," Robin tells her, absentmindedly handing Frederick the Elfire tome she is carrying, though the speaking look they share inspires a jealous tug in Chrom's gut, completely unreasonable and unfounded, "though I suppose the logistics of that will have to be decided on immediately. Lucina, will you assist me?"

Lucina is quick to agree, and Chrom is content to watch them iron out the details between them. Frederick excuses himself to find some paper for their missive.

* * *

The messenger is sent back to Ylisstol; for now, they are to pretend as though Elira's leaving had been intentional, planned in secrecy and now that it had been too visible, it was only prudent to send guards after her, to protect both queen and heir.

Chrom can breathe easier, knowing that his baby is safe and with someone who has the least reason to hurt her. Elira may not share the same good-will toward Chrom, but he is assured that she loves their daughter.

They will clear the Border Sands soon, and already the Theocracy of Plegia can be seen in the horizon.

Without the need for the army, Chrom travels with the vanguards despite Frederick and Robin's protests - he is too valuable, and he is at risk this far at their front - words with themes that have been rehashed over and over. But as one of the stronger and certainly one of the more stubborn of the Shepherds, Chrom is perfectly capable of ignoring their counsel.

He can see Frederick a few paces ahead, clearing the path for them - and if he looks, he can spot Cordelia and Gerome occasionally trading off their duties as rear and flank guards. In another half an hour, he knows that they will be replaced with Sumia and Cherche, perhaps even Nowi if the manakete felt the need for a stretch.

It's a cursory sweep, observations made easily now that he knows Robin's strategies and can identify her theory in practice. It's been over four years, and if there's no better proof that her place is here, with them, when he can barely remember how the Shepherds operated before he brought her to their fort.

His survey isn't entirely done out of duty and wariness. Again and again, Chrom's attention is drawn away to distraction by his family. Robin holds a book in her hands, not quite reading from it as she raises her hand in instruction. Lucina, Morgan and Mark walk close to her, and from here Chrom can only hear the twins when they speak a little too loudly, may it be out of excitement or outrage. It's an impromptu lesson, there to distract and occupy the travel-weary twins and the troubled Lucina.

It's working; Lucina instead looks engaged and curious, sometimes interjecting with her own questions. The sight they make brings a wide and unrepentantly foolish smile to his face. He knows he needs to speak with her, about her mother, about Robin, but he doesn't want to interrupt such a happy picture.

"So!" Chrom whips his head to his other side and comes face-to-flank with a horse and that couldn't be the speaker, so moves his gaze up to the rider. Sully sits at the saddle, looking half-amused at his disorientation and all smug that she caught him off-guard.

"Um," Chrom says eloquently, suddenly panicking. Were they talking about something?

"So," Sully repeats and continues, "is there anything you need to share with the class, Chrom?" She glances in the direction he had been looking at, and he realizes that he's been about as discreet as a bull in a pottery shop. Robin notices the attention and gives them a wave, one that he and Sully return, his own effort with a touch of sheepishness.

Talking about and weathering out the reactions to the image he and Robin are building up – a fake night together as false lovers, sleeping in the same tent together without any more intimacy than sharing sleeping spaces even if he had wished otherwise – is distressingly different from being caught having a distant, one-sided, but _genuine_ quasi-father-lovestruck-suitor moment.

Chrom regrets every moment he had spent during his first war exasperated over each lovestruck Shepherd. "No?"

"Are you asking me or telling me that?" she says. "They remind me of you, when you were just a brat. I don't know why it's taken me this long to figure it out." She smirks. "Must be all the smiling; you weren't a smiler back then. But they're still brats."

"Hey!" Despite his protests, Chrom couldn't help the sudden, bursting feeling of pride. Lucina took after him a lot, that was uncontested, but knowing that people could also look at her siblings and see what made them Chrom's made him happy.

"So you and Robin, huh?" Sully continues, and she modulates her voice to conversational levels.

No hiding, Chrom thinks, and there's no secret he's unwilling to share with his friends.

"Well, yes," he says, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. It wasn't completely accurate that to say that was the case, not when neither he or Robin had decided to pursue a romantic relationship. "I'd like it to be," he clarifies, because it wasn't like him to lie to them, these people he trusts, though he finds that he's been lying by omission for as long as he'd known that Morgan and Mark were his. Misleading his friends is not something he would like to continue, not with his Shepherds, their friends, not when they aren't part of the audience he and Robin are making a show for.

He wants to make his intentions clear to those who matter.

The redhead merely smirks, taking things in stride as she was wont to do. "Only you'd take on more problems than you need – imminent end of the world and now you're going for domestics. But I'm pretty sure that Robin's already worrying her head around it, even if you might not be-"

"Hey now!"

"-so if you're still going to go through with it, then, go you."

"You're not angry?" _Disappointed_ is what he thinks, and he dreads the answer.

"Like what I think matters," Sully snorts, waving her spear-hand around, and Chrom's eyes are drawn to how pointy it was. "You'll do what's honorable with what you can," Sully tells him with due solemnity, "but Chrom? It's about _damn time_. Thought the love parade disembarked without you."

"It almost did," he admits, and Chrom's smile–all sappy–only just made Sully introduce the other end of her spear.

Having this form of acceptance, knowing that neither her respect nor loyalty for him had decreased, gave Chrom hope.

* * *

The future _can_ be changed. Chrom lays a hand on Lucina's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, and it is no hardship for him to turn away from Grima's effigy to look at his daughter. This is where he and Lissa had lost Emm, so many years ago, and he has to reconcile the idea that his daughter whom he had not known existed bore witness to her aunt's death.

Lucina's world had been nothing but suffering that her ability to believe in the good was based on optimism and hope for a life that was the opposite - this was the burden Chrom had left her, in another world where he had failed.

He is not the best father, nor is he a good man, but Chrom is Lucina's father, and he aspires to be a good father and a good man. If he wishes to win her trust and her faith, then he would have to win them both through action.

Chrom searches out his sister and finds her standing with Robin. He is alarmed by the way Lissa hovers over Robin, the way the tactician is bent over with her hand pressed to her forehead.

Chrom makes his way toward her and lays a hand on Robin's lower back. "What's wrong?" he asks Lissa, because she is the less likely of the two to make light of any injuries.

"Another migraine," Lissa grumbles, but it's half-hearted at best, not with how worried she is. They all were, when this problem had gone months long without treatment. "I think we need to find a doctor."

"I'll be fine. I just haven't been sleeping well," Robin insists, and straightens from her position. Chrom knows how much she disliked appearing weak, doubly so among company. "It won't affect my performance."

"You haven't slept properly in days." Chrom frowns at his tactician, and Lissa makes a surprised noise that he doesn't allow to distract him. He's had years of practice of trying to make a point while she distracted him. "You'll get your rest and a doctor after this audience."

Robin sighs and agrees. "You ought to see Khan Flavia. She has something for you."

"... alright. Lissa, can you make sure Robin doesn't hurt herself while I let her distract me with Khan Flavia?" It's a deflection, true, but there are things that need to be done before they reach Plegia.

"Aye-eye, gotcha!" Lissa chirps, and Chrom smiles when he hears her continue on with, "so how does _Chrom_ know that you haven't been sleeping, hm?"

The smile is still there when the gemstones pass hands in trust. Flavia returns his confidence with a grim smile, and they part ways. Soon, they will reach the Plegian capital. They're going to shape their future, he thinks, slotting the false stones into their places, one small change at a time.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the delay for this chapter, due to Real Life Things. The next chapter might take some time before it comes up too, for the same reason.


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